


Crack the World in Half

by Aliemur



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ableist Language, Air Nomads (Avatar), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avatar Toph, Badass Toph Beifong, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, not actual siblings but ya know..., the Beifong's A+ parenting, those guys still live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliemur/pseuds/Aliemur
Summary: The Air Avatar dies at the age of 26 in a battle against the Fire Nation. The Water Avatar passes at 61, her body fighting uselessly against poison. Toph Beifong screams her way into the world as the Avatar takes her last breath.The hundred-year war goes on.Or,Toph is the Avatar, and she's going to save the world. Zuko accidentally helps.
Relationships: Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 150
Kudos: 762
Collections: A:tla





	1. Oops, I firebent my tea!

**Author's Note:**

> hullo??? Is anyone there??? This is so self-indulgent, hahahaa. I love Toph, and I love Zuko and Toph being homies. That's it, man. There's an entire alternate uhh history behind this bad boy, but we'll see how much is relevant. 
> 
> This fic was partially inspired by AvocadoLove's [The Avatar Makes Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598252/chapters/38899721), but the only similarity is that Toph is the Avatar.

Toph cradles a teacup in her hands. It’s cold, the ceramic and swirling designs catching on her fingertips as she shifts her grip. She sips it, daintily, as she was taught. Across from her, over the low wooden table, her tutor hums in approval.

“What was Avatar Kyoshi’s greatest asset in bending?” the tutor asks, teacup clicking against the table as he sets it down.

At that question, Toph feels her careful control slip, and hairline fractures spread throughout the teacup’s structure. This release stops her from kicking the ground, from shifting the earth underneath the man and throwing him onto his butt. Just yesterday, the tutor had said that during their history lesson, they would move on to more current events, to Avatar Roku, Aang and, spirits forbid, Korra, but they had reverted back to the same familiar song and dance. It’s infuriating to be coddled like this.

“This, again?” she says. “I thought we were going to discuss Avatar Roku.”

He clears his throat. “Of course, Lady Toph. This is just a simple review.”

A lie. Why is he lying? What did her parents say to him? Maybe they told him that discussing the failures of the Avatar would disrupt her delicate constitution, as if she didn’t have ears and servants didn’t whisper.

“Well, Lady Toph?”

_I don’t know_ , she wants to spit at his feet. Let them think she’s dumb, or belligerent, or whatever. But she does not. “Avatar Kyoshi was renowned for her powerful bending.”

“And what was one of her greatest acts?”

“She split the peninsula of Yokoya from the mainland, creating Kyoshi Island.”

He gives a considering hum this time, which is lower in pitch than his appreciative hum. She has come understand this one as _that’s not the answer I was looking for_.

“Yes, that is true,” he says. “But consider the bigger picture.”

She tries a smile, but it’s forced and tight on her face. She knows she’s right, but he wants a very specific answer. Separating a peninsula from a continent requires more chi than this man has in his entire body, and if that is not greatness, then she doesn’t know what is. Her hands feel hot, burning almost against the ceramic. Taking a deep breath, she steadies herself. Control comes from the breath, after all, and she doesn’t want to accidentally crack the foundation of this building. The heat leaves her hands.

“Her technique was excellent,” she says slowly, feeling out beat of his heart to see if she’s getting it right. She doesn’t really understand why his heart suddenly starts to race, but that must mean she’s on the right track. “It was rooted in fine control. The fact that there are no recorded cases of earthquakes or tsunamis after the event shows that.”

He clears his throat, uncomfortable. She must’ve gotten it even more right than he had hoped. She takes another sip from her tea, now properly warm, all prim and proper.

“Another question?” she prompts him.

“Yes, that’s…correct,” he says, clearing his throat again. “Now, let us discuss the reign of Chin the Conqueror…”

…

Lui Shang has been the esteemed Lady Beifong’s tutor for the past half year, an extremely new position in terms of his past resume. He has tutored many Earth Kingdom children, enough that he is considering retirement soon, after his current pupils all age out.

The little Lady Beifong has a sharp mind and a way of smiling that makes him think of an animal baring its teeth. He has never said this thought aloud, and never will lest he lose his lucrative position faster than the little Lady could snap her fingers. However, recent events have made him reconsider his attachment to the job and, apparently, his own sanity.

Lao and Poppy have been insistent on certain aspects of the curriculum and other odd idiosyncrasies, such as serving lukewarm tea when it came time for the traditional mid-morning snack. He chalked this up to them being rich and their daughter being blind. Perhaps the little lady scalded herself with tea when she was young, and her parents never stepped out of the shadow of fear. It was expected.

What wasn’t expected was for steam to rise from Lady Beifong’s previously cold cup, her fingers tightly wrapped around it, as he watched. What wasn’t expected was for her to smile in that challenging way, to prompt him forward, daring him almost. He had ended the lesson early, swept the cups and the teapot onto the tray himself, waving off the servants, and ran his hands over her teacup. It was slightly warm, from her body temperature or…something else, he couldn’t say.

Now, he paces outside the kitchens, reticent to confront Lao about his….discovery, if it could even be called that. It was not definitive. If she had shot sparks out between her teeth, there would be no question. But steam? He might have just accidentally given her hot tea, somehow. Not to mention that he knew nothing about heat manipulation, and if it was in the repertoire of fire benders. He had never heard of it. 

He’s reasonably sure that the little lady is receiving earth bending lessons, and that they Beifongs would not bother with it if she isn’t an earth bender. The only other option is that…well, she can bend two elements. And if she can bend two elements, that means she can bend three, then four. That means she is the Avatar.

But that thought is ridiculous. A blind Avatar, so fragile that her parents hid her from the world? It is far more likely that the Beifongs have a fire bender hidden somewhere in their lineage, and the little Lady has simply been very unlucky with her lot in life.

Or he is going insane.

He decides to let it go. In a time of war like this, he didn’t make it this far by questioning noble families and the purity of their bloodline. 

As he starts making his way over to Lao’s office to give him an update on the little Lady’s progress, someone calls, “Tutor Shang.”

He flinches, turns, sees Poppy Beifong and two servants trailing behind her, and hastily bows. “Lady Beifong.”

She looks at him with an oddly discerning gaze, her eyes narrowing. Something changes in the tilt of her mouth, and he feels himself starting to sweat. He had never thought that he should try to understand the Lady of the estate, but now he regrets it. “I am glad I caught you. My husband is currently occupied. I will take your update in his place.”

They lead him to a small sitting room, and he takes his place on a cushion across from her. She folds her hands in her sleeves as the servants pour tea for them. After that is done, she gestures for them to leave the room.

When the sliding door closes behind them, she speaks, “Thank you for your hard work.”

“it is my pleasure,” he says. He picks up the cup, watching the steam rise from the surface of the liquid, the fine ceramic warm underneath his fingers. “The little lady is very bright.”

“She is, isn’t she?” she smiles, takes a sip of her tea. “A bright little spark.”

He chokes at that, coughing on hot liquid. Poppy watches him over the rim of her cup, that same discerning squint of her eyes trained on him. She let’s the silence stretch for an agonizing few seconds, before her smile broadens. A predator’s smile. The resemblance between daughter and mother is uncanny then, and he must force himself to take a breath.

“Tell me, Tutor Shang, what has made you so nervous?”

…

“Dear husband,” his wife says from the doorway to his office. Lao looks up from his paperwork, startled by her presence. She stands with a tray in her hand, teapot, teacups, and freshly peeled apples. He waves her in, focusing his attention back on the contract he’s looking over. It’s a surprise visit. She hasn’t done things like this in a long time. He cannot even remember the last.

“Beautiful Poppy,” he greets as she sits across from him, setting the tray on the desk with a click. “Thank you for talking to the tutor for me.”

“Of course,” she says, pouring a cup for him, then herself. He gratefully takes it, letting the warm scent of jasmine tea wash over him. It’s unsweetened, and he’s glad she has remembered his preferences after all this time. “Toph is doing well, and the tutor believes that she has an exceptionally bright mind.”

“That is a relief,” he sighs, plucking a piece of apple from the plate. Although with her blindness, that could be more curse than blessing. A clever mind she would have, but it would be useless since she could not take over the Beifong enterprise. Their best hope was to marry her to a sharp, pious individual, who would help grow the family legacy.

“I was thinking of the trip we were to take to Ba Sing Se,” she says.

He nods. They had been planning that for a while, to see if Toph could manage some light stress from travelling, and to round out her education. Ba Sing Se was the last true cultural bastion of the Earth Kingdom and had even repelled a Fire Nation attack. It would be safe. 

“I’ve heard some disconcerting reports about Fire Nation movement near Ba Sing Se. It seems they might be planning a large-scale attack.”

He looks up at her, meets her worried gaze. Sighing, he leans back in his chair and rubs the bridge of his nose. “We should postpone it, then.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Taking another bite of the apple, he pulls out a blank roll of parchment to begin the letter for the servants in Ba Sing Se who were preparing for their arrival.

“I talked to Master Yu as well,” she says, “He said Toph has not progressed with her earth bending the past few months.”

He is unable to keep back a frustrated sigh. “Her blindness must be limiting her abilities. We should stop these lessons. There’s no telling how straining it is on her health. We should start teaching her modern politics, instead.”

“Lao,” she says, softly, and he looks up from the letter. She looks nervous, stricken almost. “Think of Toph. She enjoys her earth bending lessons so much. And to learn the horrors of the world at such a young age, why, she will suffer from this.”

“I know,” he admits, dipping the brush into the ink dish. It’s running low. “But we won’t tell her about the horrors of war. Just the structure of the Fire Nation, at the very least.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, our poor Toph.”

“We’re doing our best,” he says, finishing the letter with his signature and the flying boar seal. “We will tell her at dinner.”

…

Toph eats dinner with her parents, like any other night. They sit across from her, servants hovering by the wall, ready to jump in to help her eat. For a sighted person, they might have been unobtrusive, but she’s all too aware of them. It’s infuriating, and she hates it, but this is the way it has always been.

Her father says, “Your mother and I were discussing our trip to Ba Sing Se.”

She perks up, interested. There had been light discussions about it the past few weeks. Ba Sing Se is just another big city with far too many rules, and she bets there wouldn’t be much opportunity for her to explore but getting out of Gaoling would be amazing. She can only run so far in one night, not to mention that she had beaten every earth bender in the city. Well, the one’s that counted. Things were getting boring.

“We’re putting that on hold for now,” he says, and she deflates. “Travelling during these turbulent times can be difficult.”

“Yes,” her mother chimes in, “We do have utmost faith in our security team, but better safe than sorry.”

She stays silent, not trusting herself to say anything. Instead, she lifts a spoon of soup to her mouth and swallows. It tastes like nothing.

“We are also putting your earth bending lessons on hold. Master Yu has said that your level of skill is good enough for any noble lady, and we believe we should begin focusing your attention on other studies.”

She can feel he’s lying, not about the earth bending lessons, but about how she’s good enough for any noble lady. All her parents know is that she can do proper breathing exercises and ground herself, that’s it. And sure, Master Yu was a good for nothing master; she could probably beat him into a bloody pulp with her hands behind her back, but it stung to have her abilities dismissed so readily. Her spoon clatters down onto the table. “That’s not fair!”

She can feel her parents sharing a glance, the servants shuffling silently.

“Toph,” her father says, a warning tone in his voice, “This is just temporary while we restructure your lesson plans.”

Lies. She can feel it in his breath, in his heartbeat. She grits her teeth, picks up her chopsticks, and shoves a clump of rice into her mouth before she says something she’ll really regret. She doesn’t know what she did wrong, what happened to make her parents rescind the earth bending lessons. Did they find out she had been in Earth Rumble IV? No. If they did, she would be under guard every hour of the day.

“Do you really think I can’t handle earth bending lessons?” she asks.

A delicate pause, her mother clearing her throat, her father setting down his chopsticks.

“This is temporary,” her mother repeats.

Another lie.

“We are doing this because we love you,” her mother says.

Truth.

…

Her mother visits her that night, before she falls asleep. She sits at the head of the bed, near the pillow, combing her hands through Toph’s hair. She should be mad, but she can’t help leaning into her touch.

“I know this must be difficult,” she says, softly. “But I know the truth, now.”

Toph twitches, her heart speeding up. Did she know that Toph could earth bend really well? That she could throw muscle-bound men out of a ring with a flick of her wrists? Something like hope bubbles up, but more fragile.

“I’m sorry we put you into those earth bending lessons. It must’ve been very frustrating.”

Toph nods, silently, too scared that if she responds, she would wake up and this would all turn out to be a dream. 

“Tutor Shang told me.”

“What?” she says. That man never struck her as the Earth Rumble type. Too proper, too traditional.

“You firebent the tea this morning, during the lesson.”

She flinches, sitting up, her mind blank. Then, she pinpoints the moment, and she feels her breath get caught in her throat. Cold tea, then hot tea. She had been so smug in her answer she hadn’t even noticed. For a second, she feels sick to her stomach, but she forces that down.

Her mother goes on, unperturbed, “I made Shang believe that it was nothing. Heat manipulation can be tricky, and most don’t know of it. It takes very fine control. Fire is always easier than heat.”

“I—” Toph starts to say, but then can’t. Can’t think, can’t even imagine it.

Her mother touches her shoulder, turning Toph to face her. “You know, your grandmother was a firebender. It is an ugly touch of the war.”

She’s speechless, reeling.

“I can’t bend, myself, but I always knew there was a chance you could turn out like…that. I never told your father. Imagine the scandal,” she says with an odd laugh. “When you were born with green eyes, no matter if they could see or not, I thought we had passed safely. But Agni has his plans.”

She cups Toph’s face in her hand and plants a kiss on her forehead. “We will get through this.”

…

Toph waits for her mother to settle down in bed, for the servants to fall asleep. She can’t think, can’t believe. It’s almost hilarious. Her mother thinks she’s a _firebender_ , of all things. Not an earthbender, but a firebender. It didn’t even cross her mind that she could be the Avatar.

What does that say about her? About everyone? About the world?

Toph knows the truth. 

Everyone in the house has settled, guards patrolling certain sections of the estate. She avoids them easily, slipping through the outer fence like it’s nothing, and starts running. The air is cold, biting almost, and the earth against her bare feet feels like ice. Trees and bugs and bushes, animals in the underbrush, and in the distance at the very edge of her awareness, a traveler camping in the woods. She ignores them all and launches herself over a stream, landing hard enough that the ground cracks under her weight.

She’s reached the mountains and the caves, and with a powerful stomp, she feels the colony of badgermoles that have been her friends and teachers for years. She hasn’t visited in a while, but now, she carves a path to them, compacting dirt into a perfectly circular tunnel, before letting it loosen and close behind her. She travels at a distinct slope, skidding down at an almost forty-five-degree angle. 

They greet her with affable thumps of their paws, and whiskers tickling her face, the youngest licking her affectionately. She collapses against them, trying very hard to catch her breath. Their fur is warm, and she curls her fingers into them.

The older badgermoles shuffle off, and she’s left with the younger bunch. They’re smaller than the adults, and the youngest is small enough that she can wrap its face in a hug.

She tells them, “I bent fire.”

The youngest one slaps their tail against the ground, whiskers tickling her cheeks. She presses her forehead against theirs. Smells like soil and cool earth, underground. Their breath is warm and wet.

She says, “I don’t want to go home.”

…

Zuko wakes up to a distant thump, and a sudden quieting of the forest. He cracks his eyes open, squinting in the darkness. The embers of his fire have almost died, and the ostrich-horse is still quietly sleeping. Sitting up, he eases a crick in his neck, then let’s out a breath, flames carefully kept at bay. It’s quiet, and nothing moves. Still, he pulls his blades closer, loosens the sleeping bag.

Silence. He settles back down but is unable to relax.

It’s cold.

He concentrates on the embers, feeding them a line of his chi. After a few controlled breaths, the embers reignite, and a small flame crackles to life. He adds some wood from his stockpile, slowly relinquishing control until the fire is stable on its own. Shuffling himself a little bit closer to the heat, he looks up at the sky. He picks out the constellation of the Southern Wolf, the star that made the point of her snout glittering brightly. Winter had just begun.

Almost three years had already passed since his banishment, since he was sent to find and capture the Earth Avatar. He feels tired. The Earth Kingdom is so vast, and he’s alone. He chose that, of course. Told Uncle to retire to Ember Island after his crew had been requisitioned for an invasion of the Northern Water Tribe, but Uncle had been stubborn. Zuko knew that stealing away in the middle of the night was the only way to force Uncle to seek his own happiness.

He did the right thing.

Tomorrow, he will enter the city of Gaoling and see if there are any rumors he could follow. He had researched the different methods for finding the Avatar but had come up with nothing. Airbender toys hidden or burned, Earth scrying tools ultimately useless, Water Tribe methods entirely unknown, and if there were Fire Nation methods, he doesn’t know and probably won’t find out. The one thing he knows is that the Avatar could be anywhere from ten to sixteen years old.

It’s a wide berth.

There’s a distant rumbling, and Zuko’s on his feet. The ostrich-horse lets out a low croon but doesn’t wake up. The ground shakes, and he tenses, wondering if this is an earthquake. Then it stops. He waits, hands tight around his broadswords, not that they would do much against the earth swallowing him whole. It begins again, stops, begins. It’s rhythmic, he realizes, as the ostrich-horse finally wakes up, stumbling to her feet.

He grabs her before she can run off, petting her ruffled feathers and murmuring low words to her, hoping that she will settle.

“What the hell?” he asks her. She responds by lipping his ear.

The rumbling is getting louder, and he ties her to a tree, lashing the rest of his supplies onto her back for a quick getaway. He squashes the fire with a quick gesture of his hand and waits for his eyes to adjust. There’s no doubt about it; whatever is making that sound is getting closer, the ground shaking harder.

Like an idiot, he decides to investigate.

Swords on his back, he silently makes his way into the woods. The rumbling suddenly stops, and he stops as well, ears straining to catch any sounds. Rustling in the underbrush, small enough to just be animals, and then a distant yell. It sounds like a young girl.

He’s rushing now, his stealth less absolute. The trees are getting younger, smaller, more and more plants on the forest floor that he jumps over. The forest breaks off, and he finds himself in a rocky clearing, the moon shining brightly.

There is a girl, alone, her shoulders heaving, fists clenched. Her stance is distinctly grounded, an earth bender getting ready to move, and he’s instantly on alert for any attackers. But the clearing is empty except for them. She stomps, and the earth shakes, a large boulder rising from the ground. She lets it crash back down and he almost stumbles. She launches herself head-first into it, screaming. He watches in horror as the stone cracks into pieces, and she’s pulling herself out, her fingers pulverizing the stone wherever she clenches the rock for a handhold.

She turns to face him then, pebbles in her mouth that she’s grinding down to dust. Even from this distance, even with her hair covering her eyes, he can tell she’s furious.

He steps backwards, drawing his swords. “What the hell,” he asks her, asks the world.

With a twist of her fists, suddenly his feet are encased in rock, and this time, he almost loses his balance, but he crouches down before he falls over. It would take two good, heated punches to break himself out of them, but he isn’t sure if he wants to do that yet, give away that he’s a firebender deep in Earth territory.

The girl spits out her rocks, breathing heavily. “Who are you?” she asks, sounding annoyed.

“You woke me up,” he says, also annoyed. “Why are you throwing rocks around in the middle of the night?”

She’s silent, and he thinks she isn’t going to answer. Then, “My grandmother is a firebender.”

He blinks, confused. “Oh. Uh, ok.”

“Yeah.”

“Could you let me out?” he says, gesturing to his feet. It’s getting uncomfortable.

“Are you going to try to attack me?”

“What?” he says, even more confused. “No. Why would I do that?”

The earth crumbles around his feet, and she sits down with a heavy thump, turning her face up towards the sky. He watches her, sheathing his sword once he’s sure she isn’t going to try something again.

“I think I might be screwed. Really screwed.”

“…because your grandmother is a firebender?” he asks, trying not to take offense. He could see why she could be ashamed (burnt forests, more burn scars on more people than he can count, revulsion in a young boy’s eyes), but fire wasn’t only destruction. It was also—

She bursts out into laughter, falling onto her back, her limbs flailing. “Yes,” she wheezes, “Because my grandma is a firebender!”

For not the first time in his life, he feels like he missed the joke.

…

The girl eventually recovers, giving him a rough slap on the back, telling him to come visit her in Gaoling sometime, proclaiming that she is—

“The best earthbender in the world!” And then she starts laughing again, doubling over. “Earth Rumble V. I promise to give a good enough show to make this sleepless night worth it. I’ll see you then.”

Then she’s off, the earth propelling her forward. He loses his balance from the sudden shift, landing on his butt. That’ll bruise. Still, he calls after her, “Who are you?”

“I’m the Blind Bandit!” she cackles over her shoulder as she disappears.

Zuko heads back to his camp, slowly picking his way through the forest. The ostrich-horse is were he left her, impatiently chewing at a poor tuft of grass at the base of the tree. He unties her, unpacks everything. Dawn is still a few hours off. There is a chance he can still get some sleep before then.

He settles back down in his sleeping bag, curled up next to the ostrich-horse for warmth. He closes his eyes and waits for the sun to rise.


	2. Fight! Fight! Fight!

“Sit straight, legs crossed,” Poppy tells her daughter.

Toph is sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, a cushion under her and blankets draped over her shoulders against the cold morning. The sunlight creeps in through the windows, brushing against the edges of Poppy’s skirts. For a visceral moment, she finds it hard to swallow, hard to believe her unluckiness. She had borne not only a blind child, but a fire bending one. The moment passes, and she clears her throat, leaning against the chair, steadying herself with a deep breath.

It is the curse of mixing blood, she knows. Fire and earth were volatile together: volcanic eruptions, boiling magma, and the pressure of burning rocks. Rumors said that it drew the attention of spirits, natural disasters more common where mixed blood children were. That’s why they stayed far away from the colonies. Earthquakes were common there, even volcanic eruptions. Although mixed children already existed in Gaoling, carefully concealed, just as her own mother had been, she just hopes that Toph is not the tipping point, that she will not bring spiritual disaster to this city.

She doesn’t think of telling Lao. He would not understand. Their marriage had been business, and although an affection and a sort of deep understanding had developed over these long years, she could not burden him with this knowledge. If the truth escaped, she would take all the blame herself, shielding Toph and Lao from the brunt of the people’s ire. Business investments would fall for a while, but they would recover. She could be the villainous woman who had deceived her husband. It isn’t what she had dreamed of as a girl, but she would protect Toph. It is her duty.

That is why she stands up, walks to the fire, and feeds it until the room is filled with an uncomfortable warmth. Toph is sweating in the gold and red light, and Poppy takes a seat in her chair. There is no way for Toph to ever comfortably fire bend, blind as she is. At best, scorched tables and smoldering curtains. At worst, third degree burns. Self-control is the only thing she could learn. Toph would have to smother her inner flames, keep them low and banked. It is the only option, right now. They would have to be patient.

“Meditating is how fire benders learn to control flames,” she explains quietly, sitting down. “My mother did it often, though with candles.”

“Why are we using the fireplace?” Toph asks.

Poppy delicately clears her throat. “It seems…sight was a large component of how beginners center their chi on the flame. I thought that perhaps your sense of touch would cover that particular lack.”

Toph is silent at that. Poppy holds back a sigh and crosses her legs. The sun warms her back.

What else could she do? There are no fire bending instructors in Gaoling, and her own mother hadn’t taught her much once they knew Poppy was a non-bender.

“Breathe in through your nose,” she tells her daughter, a confidence in her voice that is practiced but lacks foundation. “Out through your mouth. Measured breaths.”

Poppy can see that Toph is following her instructions, the rise and fall of her chest, her lips pressing together in concentration. But the fire bobs on its own, untethered. 

“Focus on the fire,” Poppy says.

“I can’t exactly ignore it,” Toph grits.

For the first time in her life, Poppy wishes she could fire bend. Maybe then, she could teach Toph what to do, but she is just as lost as her daughter, following vague, fading memories of her mother. It is not enough. She is not enough, and her daughter is so fragile and small.

“There is a difference between focus and awareness. Line your chi up with the pulse of the flames,” Poppy instructs with that same practiced confidence. It rings hollow to her. But Toph does not notice, and she won’t. Poppy will make sure of that. “Feel its energy become your own.”

There is no tangible progress. Toph breathes. The fire breathes. They are not synchronized. It is agonizing, and Poppy knows she’s doing this all wrong.

She claps her hands together, stands up. “That’s enough for today.”

Toph gets up, the blankets slipping from her shoulders and landing in a heap on the floor. Her face is tight, her eyebrows furrowing, and Poppy feels inadequate. She steps forward, draws her daughter into a hug, and tells her, “Do not worry. You’re doing a great job.”

…

Her mother is lying, but it’s no surprise.

Over the past three days Toph has spent with her in the mornings, that is what she has learned. Her mother is an excellent liar, but there’s always the slightest hiccup in her heartbeat, a tremor in the hands on her back that gives it away. And before that, there’s a certain, odd way about how her mother’s pulse quickens, like a hummingbird’s beak touching the tip of a flower, nearly imperceptible, but if she listened closely, it was there.

Despite that, Toph wraps her arms around her, burying her face into her mother’s smooth silks. She feels heavy and sticky, the heat itching against her back. “Is this the only way?” she says into the fabric.

Her mother’s hand combs over her hair, and Toph feels her take a deep breath. “Yes.”

Another lie, less practiced. This isn’t going to work, and they both know it, even if her mother isn’t ready to tell her yet. Nothing has changed.

It’s funny.

…

Toph escapes the estate again that night, heading into the city proper this time. She ghosts through the streets, sticking to the edges of the crowded areas where vendors are hawking their wares and people are milling about window shopping. This is a risky thing to do, Toph knows, but she doesn’t care.

She sits on the steps of a closed shop, feeling people pass by, the warm, rich scent of Gaoling Puffs drifting over from a nearby street vendor. His voice is loud as he calls people over, oil popping like a miniature firecracker in his stand. Her parents don’t exactly give her pocket money, and she doesn’t want to _steal_ from them, so she just sits there.

Someone is watching her, Toph realizes. An older woman, from the feel of it, twisting her hands around a cane. It’s concerned watching, the thrum of her heart tells her that. Toph stands up casually, stretching her arms over her head and slips into the crowd. Keeping a careful tab on the woman, Toph makes her way over to a group of teenage boys, stands by them in enough of a vague way that someone could think she’s with them. The woman peers through the crowd but seems to give up and move on.

Good. Toph doesn’t need any old busybodies butting into her alone time. She leans against a wooden post, blows a strand of hair that is tickling her nose. A night out on the town is less fun than she thought it would be.

“—Blind Bandit is obviously gonna win Earth Rumble V,” says one of the teenage boys, loud and heated. She perks up at the mention of her stage name. He’s gesturing broadly with a hand to his little posse. “The Hippo doesn’t stand a chance.”

Toph smirks. That’s definitely true. She could beat anyone.

“Have you seen the size of the Hippo?” one says incredulously.

“That’s the only thing he’s got, you idiot. Just size. The Blind Bandit is all about finesse,” the first boy crows, and Toph finds that she’s starting to like him. “She’s gonna beat him in thirty seconds flat.”

“Wanna bet?” a third boy says. “Thirty seconds or less, ten copper coins.”

“Double it.”

They hash out the details of their miniature gambling ring, and Toph’s smile broadens. It would take less than thirty seconds to beat the Hippo, of all earth benders. He’s all size and bluster, like that one kid said. She could take care of that easy.

The group is drifting away now, one of them saying, “You know, I heard that they’ve set up preliminary matches with a non-bender tomorrow.”

“Yeesh,” someone scoffs, “A non-bender? He stands no chance.”

“Right? What is Xin Fu thinking?”

“He’s so gonna get destroyed,” the first boy laughs. “Might be fun to watch.”

…

Somehow, by trying to find Earth Rumble V, Zuko is recruited into it. Which is to say, he’s going to be fighting earth benders as a non-bender in a terrain that clearly favored the former. At least the pay is going to be decent, as long as he doesn’t get crushed.

He’s technically not one of the main fighters, and for that he feels his pride sting, but an opener. The big man called Xin Fu said that all he had to do was put on a good show, like he had earlier that day by the fruit stalls. Zuko is _not_ going to think about the incident, thank you very much. Even after he had scrubbed his coat in with cold well water, the rotten fruit smell lingered.

As he’s getting his face painted before the match with Xin Fu overseeing the process, he tells him, “I fight with twin broadswords.”

The man gives him an unimpressed look. “So?”

“I could seriously hurt someone.”

“We’ll give you dull ones,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

“The balance will be different.”

The same look, and Zuko drops it, letting the cosmetician cover his face with oily, sticky red paste in silence. Her hand is steady, and soon enough, his face is a red oval. She had left his scar untouched, and the paint almost blende in with scar tissue.

“I look like an idiot,” he grumbles.

“I’m not done yet,” she says, pulling out a tin of black paint. “You’ll look like a real mean bastard when I’m finished.”

He can’t tell if she’s making fun of him or not.

A few minutes later, he’s looking at himself in a dull silver mirror and regretting every choice that lead him here. He looks like an idiot, a red idiot. The woman had painted the unblemished part of his face into an ugly glare that matched the other side. There were exaggerated, pointy teeth painted over his lips.

“What is this?” he asks her, gesturing to his face, glaring.

She’s painting on another man’s face now, and she barely spares him a glance. “Take it up with Xin Fu. It’s what he wanted.”

“He better have a good explanation for this.”

He stomps towards the exit where Xin Fu had left through, but someone pulls him aside and hurriedly shoves a pair of dull broadswords in his hands. Then he is quickly ushered through a different exit, and he can hear distant cheering and Xin Fu’s booming voice.

That’s how he finds himself in the arena, dressed in black, two foreign swords in his hands, and his face burning red enough to match the stupid face paint. From above, Xin Fu announces him as, “The vengeful spirit, Oni!”

Zuko scowls, hard, at him, to hide his panic. Why a spirit, of all things? It isn’t like Xin Fu could know. Is it an unfortunate coincidence? Zuko doesn’t believe in those.

Across the arena, another man emerges, long a spindly, a good head taller than Zuko, holding a metal tipped staff in his hands. He doesn’t have face paint on, which make him feel even stupider. His opponent is announced as the, “Spider Monkey!”

Zuko feels murderous.

Tightening his grip on the cheap leather hilt of the swords, he twists them experimentally through the air. The man (he refuses to call him something like Spider Monkey) is beginning some sort of… _monologue_ , which is confusing, and he has to reevaluate the entire fight. Against a staff, Zuko would be outmatched if the man’s skill level was on par, or even a little subpar, but the _monologuing_ isn’t exactly a sign of competence.

Zuko lunges.

The space between them closes, too fast for the other man to react. A sloppy swing of his staff that Zuko bats aside. He’s spinning in a tight circle, the extra momentum of the strike enough to bat the staff out of the man’s hands. It clatters to the ground, rolling.

The man is desperate now, his form sloppy as he shifts into an earth bending stance. Zuko doesn’t give him a chance to bend, driving him towards the edge of the arena. He’s stumbling back, off-balance, and they’re a foot away from the edge.

Zuko sheathes his swords in a smooth motion. For the barest second, there’s relief on the other man’s face, but then Zuko grabs the man’s shirt collar. His eyes are dilated, his throat bobbing against Zuko’s clenched fist. He throws him off the arena.

The crowd cheers.

Zuko catches Xin Fu’s gaze from above, glares to make a point.

His next opponent is the Twister. The Twister likes jumping around like a horrible, little badger-frog, using juts of stone to launch himself into the air. This man had obviously watched his last match, so he doesn’t let Zuko get close. It’s frustrating and annoying, and Zuko half considers just hopping off of the arena out of spite, but the pay would be less.

It’s a terrible match up.

The arena is turning into a miniature obstacle course, trenches and spikes that Zuko has to hop and dodge and roll over. The face paint is rubbing off onto his sleeves, dripping down with his sweat. He’s grateful for that, at least. He would look less ridiculous.

(The crowd watches, enraptured, the red paint looks like blood, trickles down his face as a phantom of a grisly mess. It is theater, and Xin Fu grins as more and more people are drawn in.)

Zuko has one last chance, and it probably won’t work. If Master Piando saw him do this, Zuko would die of shame. But he is not here, and Zuko wants the money, even if he makes a fool of himself. Twister launches himself into a lower arc, closer than ever before, less velocity, and this time, Zuko is ready. He lines up the shot, gritting his teeth, closing his bad eye.

The Twister hits the apex of his flight.

Zuko throws the sword.

It’s spinning through the air, catching the green, crystalline light on its point. Zuko is running forward, off kilter, watching its trajectory. The Twister notices too late, the sword clipping him, and he drops like a stone. Distantly, he knows the crowd is roaring in approval, but he’s running over crags of earth and sprinting up the desperate surge the Twister has tugged upwards to catch his fall. There’s no time.

When he crests the top, Twister is struggling to stand, hand pressed against his arm, blood. He catches his eyes. Gold meets bright green. Zuko punches the man in the throat. He falls. A naked blade pressed against neck. From this distance, Zuko can see the sweat and dirt creasing his forehead, the gasps of breath, blood leaking into the earth.

The man taps out.

Another win.

It was a messy match, but people are cheering, and he can feel their voices tickling his ears. Something like adrenaline fills his chest, and he wipes his brow. Zuko is tired, but still he rises to meet the next opponent.

“The Hippo!”

A large, heavy man with only four flat teeth. The earth shakes under his stomps, and Zuko has to dig his blades into the ground to avoid sliding off. His opponent smiles triumphantly, and Zuko knows he has lost even before he feels the ground rise from underneath him, and he’s launched out of the ring. The wind whistling in his ears, the crowd flashing by as he lands with a crash.

Loss.

…

Zuko rubs his back, sorely regretting that he agreed to sign up for this tournament. The pay is pretty decent, especially since he made it to the third round. Xin Fu's face is oddly detached as he hands him a sack of heavy coins, which he takes as him being miffed at having to pay more than he thought he would have to.

After he washes off the face paint (pigment swirling in water, turning a shade of pink close to red), he sits in the stands to watch the rest of the matches. It pisses him off that he only lasted two rounds against these… people, but he reminds himself that it was unfair. With his bending, he could have taken them all out, even the Hippo. But it isn’t like he can just start fire bending in the middle of the Earth Kingdom.

The Hippo is the crowd favorite. He’s annoyed. There are two more matches, before Xin Fu says to come back tomorrow to watch the semifinals and finale, to see the reigning champion. 

Zuko is frustrated as he shoves his way through the crowd and out into the night. The Blind Bandit is a no-show, and there were definitely no other kids in the tournament. Not yet, he concedes, breathing in the cool air, but he doubts that children made it into the finale of earth ring matches. He feels stupid and tired and bruised. It’s nothing new, though. He’s had three years of practice to get used to this.

As he makes his way out of the main throng of the crowd, he finds himself in a plaza, vendors selling after show time snacks. He pauses, getting his bearings.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He jumps, spins around, and sees her, the Blind Bandit. And now, he realizes underneath the dull lantern light, the nickname isn’t just that. She really is blind, her gaze trained to the right and a little too low, her eyes a pale jade.

She smiles, broadly. “Nice fights, Jumpy.”

“I—what? Jumpy?” he sputters, trying to restrain the sudden panic in his chest to no use.

“I’m calling you Jumpy,” she says nonchalantly. He has a feeling he should take offense to that, but he’s caught off guard. She steps in front of him, stretching her hands over her head. She turns her head, and he catches her profile. She’s grinning at him, very deliberately. “Come on, let’s buy some Gaoling puffs.”

He follows her. “I thought you were supposed to fight in the tournament.”

“I’m reigning champion,” she laughs. “I don’t fight in the preliminaries.”

He stops in his tracks, mind scrambling. “You. You’re reigning champion?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the last syllable, placing her hands on her hip. “Beat every last one of those lily-bottomed babies in Earth Rumble IV. It was fun.”

He shakes his head, slightly dazed from this reveal, definitely not from a rock that had hit him earlier in one of those fights.

She stops near a vendor and says to him, “Alright, I can tell you’re curious. Buy us some puffs, and I’ll tell you my secret.”

Numbly, he buys two servings of the puffs, setting down the copper coins with a small pang in his heart. The money from winning two rounds would last him a while, as long as he doesn’t buy treats for every random kid he meets on the street. He hands her one of the bags, and she shoves her hand in and starts stuffing her face, crunching loudly. There are people side-eyeing them, and Toph's grin is growing wider and wider, as if she knows and she's enjoying his discomfort at the attention. Zuko hurriedly ducks into a shadowy side-alley, pulling her in after him.

“You are blind, right?” he hisses at her.

She laughs, crumbs scattering. He scrunches his nose in disgust. “Yeah, idiot. Come on, eat your puffs. They’re not bad.”

He picks up a puff, scrutinizes it in the wane light. It looks like it isn’t spiced at all. Just salt. It’s bland, just as he expected from a piece of puffed rice, but still. At least in the Fire Nation they gave food a nice dose of flavor. “Not very good.”

She snorts.

He doesn’t expect it from her. He doesn’t know what to expect from her. They eat quietly for a few moments. The girl leans against the wall, and he stands across from her, watching. She’s relaxed. He squints at her. She’s so small, barely coming up to his shoulders, if he was being generous, and she’s so pale. Face chubby with childhood. He knows he’s pale too, but she looks like porcelain. “So, what _is_ your secret?”

“I’m awesome.”

He has to resist the urge to face palm. “You really beat everyone in the tournament?”

“Yeah, I already said that. What, you don’t believe me?”

He flashes back to that night near the woods, to her chewing up rocks like they were candy. “No. It makes…sense.”

“I can tell you don’t really believe me,” she says with a grin. It’s sharp, challenging, and he feels like he should recognize it. “Fight me, then.”

“What,” he says. Talking to her is like getting whiplash. “Fight you?”

“That’s what I said. A bit slow on the uptake, huh, Jumpy?” She jabs him in the ribs, and he almost drops his puffs. “Fight me.”

“Here? Right now?” he stammers, shielding his puffs protectively. They aren’t that good, but he isn’t about to waste money. “In the middle of the city?”

“Nah. I don’t want to get arrested. But I know a good place outside the city.” She’s finishes her puffs and wipes her hands on her tunic. “Or are you picken? Afraid to get your ass handed to you by a little girl?”

He follows out of the city, eating his puffs louder than necessary. To make a point.

…

“I can’t earth bend,” he tells her.

She cracks her knuckles. “I know.”

The moon shines overhead, almost full. They’re standing outside the city limits, on a flat patch of land that’s rocky enough to twist an ankle in if he isn’t careful. There are trees behind the girl, mountains a little further, and he thinks he might have gone insane. What would father think of him standing here in the middle of the Earth Kingdom fighting a blind girl? What would Uncle?

Azula would laugh. He kind of wants to.

“I use dual broadswords. They’re sharp.”

She gives him the same unimpressed look Xin Fu did. It doesn’t land, but he understands. He doesn’t know how she knows to do that, to give a _look_. Seems antithetical to being blind. Maybe it’s an earth bender thing. “Uh-huh. And I can crush you with an avalanche. Just because you use sharp pointy sticks doesn’t mean you’ll touch me with them.”

“Fine,” he says, tightly, offended.

They fight.

He’s tired and bruised from the other matches, and she’s fresh, so it’s not a surprise to him when he lands flat on his back, knocked down by a boulder that pushes all the air from his lungs and wrenches the swords from his grip. It stings.

They go again.

Another loss, his feet swept out from under him as the land shifted, and he falls on his butt, the swords spinning out of his hands. He vows to hold them even tighter. 

Again.

He lands hard on his back another time, dazed, and for an odd moment, his eyes are caught by the stars.

The Wolf points south.

Recovering, he sits up and sees the girl. Her face twists strangely in a way he can’t read. It’s too dark. With a movement of her hands, the destruction of the landscape smooths itself out, like nothing every happened. She breathes out, visibly letting her chi come to rest. Something in his chest constricts. His mouth tastes bitter, like jealousy and blood from where he bit his cheek.

“Good match,” she says, walking over and reaching a hand down to him.

He takes it, and she levers him up with surprising strength. The world spins, the blood rushing to his head, but he steadies himself. “I can go again.”

She snorts. “Next time.”

He picks up his swords and sheaths them, rubbing at his bruises. He casts a glance at her. “For what it’s worth, you’re a really amazing earth bender.”

“I know,” she grins. Then she punches him in the shoulder.

“What was that for?” he says, indignant, rubbing yet another sore spot.

“Relax. That’s how I show affection, Jumpy.”

He feels his breath catch in his throat, something inside him warming.

“I’m Toph,” she says. “The Blind Bandit is my stage name.”

“I figured.”

She’s waiting, he realizes belatedly. He needs to reply with his own name. The pause has gone on too long now, and he opens his mouth to say—

…

“I’m—I’m Lee,” he tells her. Toph doesn’t need to feel his heartbeat to know that he’s lying, and really badly at that. She wonders about why he would keep his name hidden, then stops wondering about it. Doesn’t matter. She’s keeping a lot hidden too.

“Nice to meet you, Jumpy,” she says, grinning in the way that made her tutor’s heartbeat hop all over the place. Jumpy’s heartbeat is slowing down though, so maybe she didn’t get it right. “Come tomorrow to my fight, yeah?”

“…fine.”

“I’ve got to get going.” She doesn’t though, not yet. Jumpy doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. All she does know is that she doesn’t want to go back home, tuck herself in, and wake up another day under her mother’s watchful eyes. It’s even more stifling than before, and sometimes it feels like she can’t breathe.

“I don’t want to go home,” she says, quietly.

That elicits a reaction from him, his heart rate spiking, and suddenly, standing next to him, she feels this sort of fizzle pop crack coming off him, though externally, he only stiffens. She’s noticed it before, when she was fighting him, that weird feeling she could barely sense. He would always tug it back in, though, smothering it with his swords. At those times, his movements would start to shift in unknowable ways, but it was the same as the fizzle. Back inside you go, Jumpy would say to it, clumsily shoving it under his bed as she watched.

“Whoops,” she laughs, rubbing the back of her neck. She turns her face up to the sky, breathes in the cool night air. “That brought the mood down. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And she sinks into the ground, deciding she’d rather carve a tunnel back into Gaoling than admit another secret to this liar.

…

Half-way back to her bed, it clicks.

“His chi!” she shouts into the tunnel. “He’s suppressing his chi!”

Another mystery to add on to the growing enigma. Not an earth bender. He had admitted it himself. Water is also a definite no go. She had met a healer from the Southern Water Tribe when her parents tried to have her eyes healed, and that woman had felt…flowy. Like a thin slice of pickled cucumber. Jumpy felt more like a stiff board she could crack over her knee. And there wasn’t any real reason for him to hide water bending, this deep in Earth Kingdom territory. That left air bender.

Or fire bender.

The air benders were nomads, before the war, weren’t they? Maybe he’s a survivor of a wondering sect who managed to escape all the traps and bounty hunters.

Or a secret Fire Nation spy.

She wonders if he would take her with him, when he leaves. Then she laughs.

…

Zuko stumbles back into the city on his own. He finds the sad little inn he had checked his things into. Sets his swords nearby and collapses into the straw mattress. It’s better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground and for the first time in a long time, he can afford it.

He doesn’t think about Toph. He doesn’t think about going home. He doesn’t think about Uncle.

But he does. Toph is powerful. And she still hadn’t explained to him how she was able to ‘see’ so well. She doesn’t want to go home, but she did in the end. He turns over, pulling the thin blanket over his chin.

Home.

Gaoling puffs are nothing. He wants to eat fire flakes, stuff them into his face by the handful. Feel the burst of flavor and the burn against his tongue. The desire overtakes him so quickly that he feels it in his chest, this sort of hopeless vacuum, and he squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against it. It doesn’t hurt anymore; it hasn’t in a long time, but still he needs—no, he wants—

Azula would laugh at him if she could see him. Too weak to find the Avatar. Too weak to do it on his own. Uncle would spout some nonsensical proverb, and it would help, just because Zuko could get angry at those words instead of everything else. But here he is, alone.

Getting up from bed, he slides his bag out from the loose floorboard he had shoved it under. His hands find the smooth, lacquered wood of his mask. The blue and white paint feels brighter at night, somehow. Much better than red and black. 

He slips out through the window.

…

Toph dreams that night, of standing on cold, cold earth, her eyes watching the sky above. And she knows she’s watching it, waiting, but she doesn’t see it. She’s walking along that cold, cold ground, and then she’s jumping up onto a round structure, an igloo, sitting on top of it, fingers finding purchase on the snow and cracks in the ice, eyes still on the sky. She feels a great warmth, something like a second sun rising from the West, which is all wrong, because the sun can’t reach the South Pole at this time of year, but this thing rises. And that second sun warms the sky, and she feels it fill her too, heat that is hard to contain.

There are children below her, happy, happy children that wheel snow flurries in the air with spinning arms, laughing. She does not laugh. Instead, she tastes ash carried by the winds from the North, watches as the heavens bleed fire.

She wakes up with tears in her eyes, her cheeks wet and salty. She does not remember her dream, but, for a moment, she is caught in its after image, throat tight. 

“What the hell,” she asks the empty room, pre-dawn light that she cannot see slanting in through the windows.

…

Toph’s sitting in front of the fireplace again, this morning.

Crack goes the fire.

Snap goes a log.

Tap-tap-tap goes her mother’s foot.

Toph sighs. She feels the heat of the fire, yeah, but it’s like any other time. It’s a little too warm, a heat that dries her lips. Stifling, hard to breathe through. Her mother says it’s supposed to help her grasp it. But it wavers out of her reach, like a cloth waving in the wind. A white flag meant surrender, not that she knows what white is, but she imagines it is like this heat, like a pressure against her lungs. No other choice.

She tries with her feet again. She tries with her skin. She tries with her ears.

Pop-crack-sizzle.

Familiar.

The sun’s rays touch her back.

“That’s enough, for today,” her mother says. She stands. Toph stands. Nothing else is said, but Toph can feel the frustration thrumming in her mother’s chest, in the friction of her skirts as she sweeps over to the fire and douses it with a bucket of water.

They do not hug.

…

The day is busy for Lao.

He must don his formal robes for the first time this winter to meet with the other merchants in the city. As a rule, he does not deal with serious matters in the winter months. It is bad luck. But the others had insisted, citing some sort of trouble with a supposed thief. Lao has no idea how it concerns him, but he went anyways because favors would always be useful in the future.

It takes the whole day, all of them endlessly bickering back and forth. No one can agree on whether it is truly a thief or some sort of malicious spirit. Merchant Guo, the man who had arranged this whole debacle of a conference, insists that it is spirit. He says his entire office had been reconfigured, the desk turned on its head, the chairs upside down, the bookshelves turned on their side, scrolls and books scattered all over the floor. But nothing had been reported as missing. This is certainly odd, but Lao can’t bring himself to care. Guo was known to play with the truth, infamous for it after the incident where several of his storehouses had been decimated by prairie-voles.

When Lao finally arrives home that evening, he has missed dinner with his family. Then, he spends two hours by candlelight going over figures and answering letters from business partners in Ba Sing Se. He curses Guo under his breath.

By the time he goes to bed that night, he’s frustrated by the whole day. But when he sees his wife is still awake, that frustration drifts away like a leaf in the wind. She’s sitting in bed, knees drawn up to her chest, staring at the candle burning on the bedside table. Sparing her a glance, he steps into the shadow of the canopy bed, undoing the sash around his waist, letting the long, open fronted coat fall loose. He had not found the time after the meeting to change out of his stuffy formal wear.

She stands up and goes to help him, her delicate fingers drawing his outer coat from his shoulders.

“You’re up late,” he says.

She hums in agreement, touch lingering as she unties his sash. “You are too. How was the meeting?”

“Guo is superstitious. He thinks it’s a spirit. Wants to pool our resources and call in a shaman,” he says with a sigh.

“It’s not really a spirit, is it?” she asks, nervousness rippling in her voice as she folds his clothes on the table. “Should we be worried?”

He grimaces, stepping out of the pleated petticoat. “I don’t believe so. What business do spirits have here in Gaoling? It’s far more likely that it is a thief.”

She takes the petticoat, sets it near the other discarded clothing. Her face is tight, pale in the flickering candlelight. Catching her hand in his own, he pulls her in close, looks into her eyes and sees dread.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he tells her, softly. He cups Poppy’s cheek in his hand, bringing her close enough that they are sharing their breaths. “We will get through this.”

Lao falls into a quick, dreamless sleep after that. His wife stays awake in worry, staring at the carved ceiling of their canopy bed, her hands twisting the blankets.

…

Toph has to wait longer than usual for her parents to settle into bed, and she’s annoyed about that. They choose just the night she’s going to fight in Earth Rumble V to stay up late.

Rushing to the arena, she’s out of breath as they push her up to the stage, champion’s belt in hand. She holds it over her head, her face carefully relaxed, trying not give away that she had run all the way over here, as the stands roar in excitement. The vibrations tickle her toes, and she hands the belt off to the show girls next to her.

She’s facing the Hippo, like those teenage kids had predicted.

The Hippo is too dumb to make a witty remark, he just stomps. Nothing new. Nothing she didn’t anticipate. She’s glad there’s one thing she can count on tonight.

She stumbles for a few precious moments, losing her balance. The crowd gasps.

(seven seconds)

She’s going to the edge, but she’s regained her grounding, anticipating the shift of the Hippo’s bending and leaning into it. With a twist of her wrist, she has a safety rail to lean against, and the Hippo is raising his foot again, all weight balanced on one leg.

(fifteen seconds)

She punches. A column of earth surges underneath his raised foot, and he’s falling onto his back. The arena straightens. Standing, knees bent, she gets a good, tight grip of the ground with her chi, and launches him out of the arena with rolling pillars of dirt.

(twenty-six seconds)

The crowd erupts. She smiles, holds her fist up in victory. There’s Jumpy, in the stands, nearer to the front than any sane person should be. She tries smiling at him, and knows he got it when the thrum of his heart changes and there’s a little fizzle snap crack. 

…

Poppy sidles quietly out from bed, her mind too overwrought for sleep. Despite Lao’s assurance, she can’t seem to set herself at ease. Tea would help. She makes her way to the kitchen, quietly waking up one of the kitchen girls, Nang. Nang is hardworking and most importantly, discrete.

“How may I best serve you, Lady Beifong?” Nang asks, in the dark kitchen, wood crackling under the tea pot as she heats the water. Poppy feels ill at the sight of the fire.

“I’ve felt too much heat, lately,” Poppy replies.

“Not to worry,” Nang says, brightly, “I have just the thing to help.

Ten or so minutes later, Poppy is resting on a cushion in the small sitting room, Nang pouring a cup of steaming chrysanthemum tea. Two candles flicker on the table, creating long shadows. She takes a sip, sets the cup back down on its platter. Another sip. Nang is by the door, head bowed, waiting.

“Nang,” Poppy says, “Come sit with me.”

The girl looks startled for a flash, but then she nods and quickly makes her way over. Poppy pours a cup for her, and she flushes a light pink. Bowing her head low, Nang says, “Thank you, Lady Beifong.”

“Think nothing of it.”

They drink in silence. The tea does help set her frayed nerves at ease, but it’s not enough. The stress is too much, Poppy realizes with a sort of shameful sting. She is not enough.

“Please prepare another pot. I need to speak with Toph,” Poppy says.

“At this time at night?” Nang asks, eyebrows furrowed. “The little Lady is sleeping.”

“I know.”

Nang stands up, hastily, and bows her way out of the room. Poppy finishes her cup.

…

They’re outside the city limits, again, back in that field they were in last night. Jumpy wants to fight, but he’s slow. Slower than before, and she’s afraid she’s actually going to permanently damage him at this rate. It’s friendly sparring, not a death match, but he’s radiating such palpable desperation that it makes her more cautious than usual.

And he notices, which is embarrassing. “Stop holding back!” he shouts, barely sliding past a boulder she had launched.

“I’m not!” she yells back. It’s not holding back, she just doesn’t want to kill him. “You are!”

He flinches, barely sparing himself a nicked shoulder. Her comment seems to have spurred him on, though. He’s getting closer now, and she raises a wall to block him. He somersaults over it, as if to make a point, and lands lightly on his feet. They’re standing a few feet away from each other, he’s breathing hard, and she’s trying to decide if she should take this opportunity to sink him into the ground, but then he’s rushing forward, fast enough that she doesn’t have time to stop him. A rock gauntlet closes around her fists and forearm, and the blades go skittering off against it. The blow shakes her, but she stands her ground.

She slips under another strike, trying to get to his back, but he’s quick. Another swing that grates against her forearms, and then an opening. She grabs his shirt and throws him. For a second, she thinks he’s going to keep his balance, but then he goes tumbling over backwards in a painful roll.

He’s lying there, not getting up, and for a few scary seconds, she thinks she’s knocked him out, but then he groans and curses. She walks over to him, holds a hand out for him to take. He makes no move to do so, so she decides to flop down next to him. The ground is cold against her back, a relief to the sweat she had worked up. 

“Why are you holding back?” she asks him, annoyed. “Afraid you’ll hurt me?”

“I’m not holding back.” Half-lie, his heart doesn’t do the usual increase. But his chi gives a little disgruntled crackle in disagreement. “But I know you are. You could’ve ended the fight long before I got that close.”

She thinks, considering the truth of that statement. “Maybe,” she concedes, “But not without fracturing you legs, or snapping some ribs. I’m not trying to permanently maim you, you idiot.” 

He snorts, or she thinks he does. It’s more like a slightly stronger than usual exhale.

“Are you laughing at that?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She guesses he’s looking up at the stars. Then, “How are you able to… ‘see’ so well?”

Finally, he had asked again. She had been waiting for it, curious to see how long it would take. “I don’t see the way you do. I can sense things through my earth bending, the vibrations in the ground. You, the trees over there, even the raccoon-fox in the bushes.”

“Wow,” he says, softly. “That’s amazing, Toph.”

“Yeah, I am pretty great.”

“How did you learn to do that?”

“Badger-moles,” she smiles. “There’s a little colony of them north of here, in the mountain range.”

“They’re the original earth benders?”

“Yeah.”

“Like dragons,” he muses, quiet enough that maybe he hadn’t meant for her to hear it, but she’s so close. The way he says dragons is with a sort of rueful wonderment that makes her frown.

“Dragons, huh?”

His heart does a little tip-tap out of the ordinary, but it straightens itself out. “They’re the original fire benders, like how air bison were the original air benders. I’ve always wanted to see them, at least once, but…”

“The Fire Nation,” she finishes for him, grim. 

He twitches, his pulse speeding up. “The Fire Nation,” he repeats, his voice cracking. She wonders at that, at the ragged breath he takes, the way his body tenses.

“You want to meet some badger-moles?”

She feels his surprise.

“I saw the ones at the Earth Rumble who cleared the arena.”

She scoffs. “Those are tamed, bred specifically to be smaller and more manageable. The real deal is different.”

Just when she thinks he’s going to refuse and their rendezvous will be over, he says, “Sure.”

…

Toph’s bed is empty, the sheets cold.

The tray falls from Poppy’s grasp, clattering to the floor, the fine ceramic teapot and cups shattering. The liquid is cold as it splashes against her slippers.

…

They’re standing outside a tunnel Toph has punched into the mountain. He’s nervous.

“I won’t be able to see in there.”

“Oh no!” Toph says, sarcastically. “What’ll you ever do?” 

He huffs. “I’m lighting a torch.”

Turning his back to her, he starts rummaging through his pockets. Some sort of cord from his pocket, a stray branch, and then, with his back still to her, she feels his chi give off a _spark_. And she peers at it, at him, and she wants to get closer, to pull that energy to her and hold it in her hands, to feel its warm comfort, its steady pulse. She doesn’t because she does have some sort of self-restraint, but she knows now.

It’s energy, and he’s chock full of it. A fire bender. That’s one part of the mystery solved.

She can’t help the grin when he turns back around to her. 

“What’s that for?” he says, disgruntled.

“Nothing,” she says. He isn’t convinced. “Come on.”

She steps into the mouth of the tunnel, gesturing for him to follow. He’s hesitating, even with the fire in his hands.

“I’m not getting any younger, Sparky.”

He steps in with her, and she closes the ground behind him. His heart gives a little nervous skitter, but he’s following her as she carves farther in, so she counts this as a win.

“Sparky?” he asks.

“It suits you better.”

He’s silent, mulling it over. “I’d prefer Lee.”

“Liar.”

Another huff, almost endearing. It reminds her of an ostrich-horse. “Why do you think that?”

“I can tell when you’re lying. Your heart gives you away.”

“What!” he cries, stopping in his tracks. “My _what_?”

“I can feel your pulse. I told you I’m really good,” she says, grinning. “Yours is loud, by the way. You can’t lie to save your life.”

She’s sure he’s offended, but that’s underneath the panic. The torch’s heat is shifting, changing its beat, suddenly flaring in time with Sparky’s breath. She doesn’t think he’s consciously doing it. Maybe it’s a fire bender thing. “You know when I’ve been lying to you this entire time?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re fine with it?”

“So what if you lied about your name? I haven’t told you everything either.” Like how she’s the Avatar. But that’s beside the point.

A pause, and the fire evens itself out, Sparky audibly taking a deep breath. He finally says, “So, what you’re telling me is that we’re not going to meet badger-moles then. You’re actually taking me to your secret, underground dungeon.”

It takes her a second to realize he’s joking. It’s the steadiness of his heart that gives it away, and she laughs. “I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“I don’t.” 

…

Badger-moles aren’t as soft as Zuko thought they would be. Still, it’s nice. They’re warm and smell like rich soil, and they got him covered in dirt, but it’s nice. They’re also gigantic, far larger than the ones in the Earth Rumble arena, with claws the size of his arms. The bigger ones keep away, and he’s glad for that.

“They’re big,” he says.

Toph grunts in agreement, playing with one of the smaller ones. They’re sort of… wrestling. It’s an odd sight to see.

Zuko thinks about dragons, absent mindedly running his hands through fur. What if the Fire Nation had decided to tame dragons instead of hunting them? Maybe they too would lose some of their size, their ferocity in the attempt. He imagines one, small enough to fit on his shoulder like a messenger hawk, radiating heat in the cold winter months. But he shuts those daydreams down. It’s unrealistic and childish. He knows that, known it for a long time.

A badger-mole snuffles at his face, blowing air and tickling his cheeks with its whiskers. He smiles, pats it some more.

It’s nice.

When he tells her his real name, he doesn’t know what he expects her to do. Maybe shout in recognition. Maybe pulverize him with tons of rocks where he stands. It would be easy for her, just her palms pressing down, and the earth going down with it. He could pretend it would be like falling asleep.

Instead, she just grins and says, “Nice to meet you, Zuko.”

…

“But you can’t call me that, out in town.”

“I know.”

“Lee would work.”

“You know that’s not gonna happen, Sparky.”

…

Toph is humming a tune to herself as she makes her way back home. It’s nice to have a friend, her first friend, even if he’s probably a Fire Nation spy. Maybe not. He’s a piss-poor liar. The Fire Nation would have to be really desperate to send him out.

As she’s nearing the estate, close to the outer walls but still shielded by a crop of trees, she stops short. Something’s wrong, she realizes. She wriggles her toes, trying to get a better read.

People are rushing about the residence, clamoring loudly. Guards, servants, even her parents. There’s a heat in the air too, a sort of haze she can feel, crackling. Torches lit; the entire place buzzing in alarm.

“Shit,” she says.


	3. Twenty-Four Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something a little funky in the second scene of this chapter. Let me know if it's just... unnecessarily confusing. Might take a few rereads of that part? Maybe? I dunno at this point. 
> 
> ANYWAYS, I'm Hyped because this (scene and whole chapter, I guess) was fun to figure out! Please enjoy.

“Toph!” Poppy cries, running forward. Her nightgown drags along the path, its delicate edge fraying on the cobblestone, her slippers growing dirtier by the second, but she doesn’t care. She sweeps her daughter into a hug, buries her face into her tangled hair. Lao is right behind her, his warm hand on her back, his breath harsh in her ear.

Her daughter had wandered in through the main gate, its doors thrown wide open as the guards had expanded their search outside the grounds. Poppy had been the first one to spot her, despite everyone out in full force. Now, all the servants and guards are staring, their attentiveness burning like the heat of the summer sun. But they remain prudently silent, afraid to draw attention and break the moment. It’s useless, because Poppy knows them all, by face and family, and knows they failed to keep her daughter safe. Later, she will deal with them.

Poppy pulls away. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” her daughter says in a high voice, wavering on the delicate edge of tears. She’s shaking, her hands going up to Poppy’s face, blindly groping. “Mom? Where…where am I?”

She exchanges a furtive glance with Lao. His brows are furrowed, his mouth pinching into a straight line. There’s something coming over his face, his eyes going into that hard thoughtfulness, and then something eclipses that, and Poppy does not know what he is thinking. “Toph,” he says, gently, almost cajoling, “Do you not know where you are?”

“Dad?” she stammers, hands reaching out, and he reaches back, clasping her small hand in his own.

“I’m here,” he says.

For the first time, Poppy notices what Toph is wearing. The green tunic that she used for her earth bending lessons, a coat thrown on top against the winter chill. No shoes. Hair loose and falling over her face like a curtain. Goosebumps pricking along the skin of her legs. Something inside Poppy feels tremulous, uncertain. She is lost, unsure of what the picture before her is saying.

She cups her daughter’s cheek in her hand. Sticky from sweat and hot, almost as if she’s feverish. And she almost thinks that’s what it is, sickness, until she remembers her own mother, always warmer than average, her chi so strong that it could be felt. “Where did you go?” she asks, feeling as if she’s a puzzle piece away from understanding.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, and her voice cracks, the dam breaking. She’s throwing her arms around Poppy’s neck, burying her face into her shoulder.

…

Toph sits still as a stone under the blankets, the cup of tea in her hands warm. The sitting room feels cramped, even though it’s only her and the servant who’s combing out her tangled hair. But she knows that there are guards right outside the door, two more under the window looking out into the garden, and her parents in the next room, arguing. They’re closing in from all sides, and she feels trapped. The blankets weigh heavily on her shoulders, like guilt and fear. She wipes her nose, hunching in on herself. Playing dumb is taking more of a toll than she thought it would. 

Her parents’ voices ring through the wall, muffled, but she can make them out.

“It’s the spirit,” her mother says in a hushed sort of horror that makes Toph’s stomach drop. “That’s the only explanation.”

“There is no spirit,” her father says, but he’s lying, _lying_ through his teeth, and both Toph and her mother know it. The faint tremor in his voice gives it away, the dull crescendo of his pulse that she feels with her feet pressed into the ground. “You’re just on edge because of Guo’s stories.”

“Lao,” she sighs, exasperated, “Explain to me how she could have left the estate on her _own_ , without the guards noticing.”

“Toph is… small. She could have slipped past the guards—”

“She is _blind_ ,” her mother cuts in, “She is frail and weak, and—“

“Lady Toph,” interrupts the servant from behind, her voice low and quiet, but cutting through Toph’s concentration like a knife through butter. “What were you doing outside?”

(—by herself?”)

“I don’t know,” she says, quietly, too tired to put on the production like before. “I can’t remember.”

The servant smooths her hair, sets a section of it to the front of her shoulders.

(“Well, yes. I see your point—”)

The servant is giving a considering hum, and Toph knows she missed what she said. “What—"

(“—spirits, Poppy? Don’t tell me you believe in that drivel.”)

Her mind is scrambling, voices overlapping, twisting into gibberish. She pulls the blankets closer, stammers a “What?” that doesn’t even have to be faked.

(“Drivel? You foolish man. Spirits—")

“—are leaves in your hair, Lady Toph,” she says, “Your hand please.”

Toph holds out her hand instinctively. A dry leaf is pressed into her palm, crunchy, half gone. She feels the servant leaning against her back, heavy, warm.

("—swallows people one by one, leaving—”)

The candles on the table give a low, long fizzle. There’s something inside her, bubbling up, that she’s pressing down, desperately, that thing that feels like guilt and fear and anger.

The servant pulls back, the warmth fading, and Toph recognizes her, suddenly. Her name is…Ning. No, Nang. The best at making the little flower cakes they served with that horrible hibiscus tea in late summer. Those cakes were the only thing that made hibiscus tea worth it. Nang is always carefully silent, a shadow on the wall, except tonight. And why is that?

“Nang,” Toph says, and Nang flinches, but she’s already plunging forward, “I have no idea how this got in my hair.”

Her father is pacing, pacing in time with Nang’s heartbeat, like a drumbeat. “Very well then, Lady Toph.”

Toph crushes the leaf with a curled fist, sets its pieces and the untouched teacup on the table.

(He says, “We must have more guards watch her.”)

And Toph flinches, feeling her throat close. She bows her head, and Nang is stammering, saying, “I’m so sorry, did I—”

(“Of course,” her mother says. “But you know we must call a shaman, perform—”)

“—more carefully,” Nang promises, her touch going even lighter.

(“And then we’ll be playing right into Guo’s hands,” he says, “after what I said yesterday, it will look like—”)

“It doesn’t matter!” her mother is saying, voice rising, cresting into a shout, “Do you _want_ to lose Toph? To lose everything?”

The jade comb slips from Nang’s hands. She swings forward, knocking Toph aside in a fumbling attempt to catch it, but it bounces off her fingertips. It snaps loudly, echoing in the room. Nang is cursing, one moment gently prodding Toph back up into a sitting position, whispering furious apologies, and the next gathering the broken pieces in her hand. “Oh spirits,” she whimpers, trembling beside Toph, “This cost more than my wages for half the year.”

(“You are too prideful—“)

And Toph wonders if the price of fixing the comb is worth it. She imagines, for a second, taking the comb into her hands, right when her parents burst in, just in time to witness Toph fixing it with her earth bending. What would her mother do then? Would her heartbeat skyrocket? Would she faint? Would she pretend that she hadn’t been training her daughter to be a fire bender? It would’ve all just been a silly mistake, and Toph would be shunted back into a corner, told to follow the rules and obey her parents. Reprimanded by her mother for wasting her time. Marry well. That is all you can do. It would never even cross their minds that she is the Avatar. She is certain of that. 

But her mother is saying, “Why are you so afraid of agreeing with Guo? You know this situation requires…” and Toph tunes it out. Her parents would not burst in. They are discussing politics and spirits, imagining phantoms when there are none.

“Hand it over,” Toph says, holding her hand out to Nang.

Nang hesitates. “The…the comb?”

“What else?”

The jade is cool in her palms, more delicate to work with than unrefined earth. She runs her fingers over the pieces, tracing the carved designs, pausing at the rough edge of the break. She takes it slower, trying to get a good grip on the material. It’s certainly harder than soil, more stubborn, and she must be careful not to ruin the design, but she can make it work for her. Pressing the pieces together, she fills the cracks, minutely thinning the overall shape of the comb, but it’s not noticeable.

“Good as new,” Toph says, giving it back to her. “Better, even.”

Wordlessly, Nang takes it, audibly swallowing. “Thank you,” she whispers.

(“—foolish,” her mother says, voice thick.

“We can call for a healer, see if there are any abnormalities in her chi, but nothing more,” her father replies.)

Silent combing. Nang is almost done. Her mother is pressing a hand into the wall, breathing so deeply to stifle her rage that Toph can feel it.

“Lady Toph,” Nang begins, tone serious, but she stops, her hands coasting over Toph’s hair, as light as a spider. She takes a deep breath, lets it out. When she speaks again, her tone has changed, turned into something airy, almost teasing if it weren't for the trembling. “You know, it’s bad luck to fix jade when it breaks.”

"That's just superstition." 

(“—bound by duty to follow you, Lao. But know this, you have refused to heed my counsel, and should your decision harm our family, my duty will be—“)

“—finished,” Nang says. She stands, jade comb clutched in hand, bows to Toph's back, even though she isn't supposed to see it. “Thank you,” she says again, stronger this time, full of something that fills Toph with fire that makes her throat close. Nang leaves the room.

Toph sweeps the crushed bits of leaf under the table and picks up her cup of tea. It has cooled too much now, and she holds it for a moment, breathes the heat from her chest into its surface. Too hot, but she downs it anyway, its heat burning on the way down.

…

Her mother is kneeling in front of her, her father standing stiffly behind. She clutches Toph’s hands, hers skin always so soft, nails carefully manicured. No callouses, and Toph idly wonders if she’ll notice the ones on Toph’s hands, thin veneers of tough skin on the palms, at the base of the fingers, built up from bending and breaking rocks. Not too noticeable, since her bending does most of the work and not her skin, but they’re still there. She doesn’t, never has.

“We will be placing you under guard,” her father says, “All hours of the day.”

As expected, but still it feels bad. Something must’ve shifted on her face, because her mother’s grip tightens. A greater pressure, but such soft, soft skin.

“Just for now,” she says, delicately. There are no traces of her anger from before, not in her breath or her heart, and Toph wishes she could hide these things so easily. But Toph is upset, and she cannot hide this.

“We will also be finding you a healer,” he says.

Her mother lets out a sigh, the only sign that she vehemently disagrees. “Yes. A healer,” she repeats, almost politely, as if she hadn’t just threatened divorce. “For your chi.”

Deep down, Toph had almost hoped her parents would realize she’s lying her butt off. She had hoped they would realize that she was sneaking out of the estate, running around wild. Maybe then they would recognize that she was more than her blindness, but. But. Here they are. She doesn’t know what to do, what she really wants. Her strategy of playing dumb had worked better than she had ever hoped.

“Do you really think that’s going to help?” Toph asks.

“Perhaps,” her father answers, vaguely, as if he doesn’t really believe it. “We will see.”

“Fine,” she says, bitterly.

The charade was successful, but why did it feel like she lost.

…

Another dream, again, this night.

She’s leaving the cold, cold place and going back to the temple. The fire in the sky has faded, the ash from the north thinning enough that she knows she can make it back. The winds are shifting, blowing in ways that they shouldn’t at this time of year, all their voices insisting that she goes North.

So, she does. She sneaks into the stables to get her friend. It’s quiet and empty, stray fur and hay scattered on the floor, nothing else. Her friend is not there. She feels panic in her chest. Where did they hide him? The oceans are wide and vast, and there’s no way she can make it back on her own, with just her glider. Where did he go?

Still, she has to leave. She must. Must know what happened to—

They are going to see each other again. Gyatso had promised. But he hadn’t come back, not since the second sun.

She must leave. The ash is clearing, and if she can help at the temple, she has to go.

The wind tugs at her.

Unfurling the wings of her glider, she launches herself into the sky. Air buoying her wings, the air clear. Until it isn’t, and suddenly, the winds are twisting, and she’s spinning out of control, hurtling towards that cold, cold earth. She barely manages to soften the landing, rolling awkwardly in a way that hurts her shoulders more than it should.

The air is still, and a coldness falls over her. She turns. It’s her father.

“You cannot leave,” he says in a voice that is not his own (but it is).

“You can’t keep me here,” she says in a voice that is not her own (but it was). “You can’t keep me hidden. I have to help.”

“You are weak,” her mother says, voice echoing. “We are doing this to keep you safe.”

The cold, cold ground (the ice) cracks underneath her. Something shifts, burning, and the world disappears.

She wakes up to the winter sun warming her face. Turning over, she pulls the blankets closer, trying to parse through emotions that are not her own (but they are). Outside her room, there is a guard, underneath the window another, and it should not feel as familiar as it does. The dream fades, but she is left with that feeling of claustrophobia.

…

They do not have breakfast together. Lao rouses himself at the usual hour, despite last night’s fiasco, Poppy rises after she is certain he is gone, and Toph is allowed to sleep in. Poppy eats alone in the dining room, the long table stretching before her, servants ferrying food in. The jook is thicker than she would like it, but she eats it, crushing the boiled egg with her chopsticks to spread its flavor.

There are things she has to do today, too many after such a turbulent night. She must check in with the servant girl, Nang. She had explicit instructions to watch Toph until they came back, but she hadn’t. It’s frustrating to find that her staff is so ill equipped to deal with stressful situations. She needs to determine if Nang is simply incompetent, or if something had happened. The rest of the servants and guards would have to undergo a similar evaluation, but that could come later. Then, call the healer, supervise the visit. Hire more guards.

As the servants clear the table and set a cup of steaming tea in front of her, one remains, surreptitiously waiting at her elbow. It’s Kilan, the head of house that Poppy trusts with the more … unsavory tasks that she needs done.

Poppy turns towards her, lifting the teacup. “Did my husband call for a healer yet?”

“Yes, Lady Beifong. The healer should come around midday.”

She can’t help the downward quirk of her lips. For some reason, she hoped Lao would be incompetent in this, another reason to exude disappointment at him, but he hadn’t.

Kilan steps closer, slipping an unmarked scroll from her sleeve and setting it down on the table with a quiet click. “From the fence,” she says, quietly, “Delivered this morning.”

It is unpleasant to buy stolen goods, but she had made an exception this one time for Toph. Unfortunately, it’s bad news. The goods have been lost in transit, which Poppy understands to mean a spirit destroyed everything. Merchant Guo had never been the most reliable man, and she loathed to turn to him, but he’s one of the only sources she knows of in Gaoling. She had never imagined that this would happen. It’s utterly absurd. That explains why Guo had not reported anything as missing. It’s not as if he could cite his illegal contraband being gone. 

“Fetch me a brush and ink,” she says to Kilan.

She’s unsympathetic to his plight and it makes it very clear in her hasty scrawl at the bottom of the parchment.

_Very disappointing. Will be seeking business elsewhere in the future._

“There,” she says, not even waiting for the ink to dry to roll the letter back up. “Make sure to get this back to them sometime today.”

“Of course, Lady Beifong.”

Poppy sips on her tea in silence, dread curdling in the pit of her stomach, wondering what a spirit would want with instructional fire bending scrolls. She must speak to Toph.

...

Zuko has been tricked by this little city called Gaoling. Only now, a week into his stay, is he realizing this. And he feels so dumb, because he should have seen the signs sooner. The smooth brick roads, elegantly designed buildings, and crowds of people had blinded him to the truth of this place.

It’s a _mercantile_ city, somehow so insular and removed from the brunt of the war that it scarcely seems to know what’s going on. In his first cursory…search of the regional lord’s office, he made the unpleasant discovery that the lord is more for show than anything else, which doesn’t make sense by any stretch of the imagination. The famine stores aren’t protected by the lord, nor is there any centralized militia to protect the region. Finances are largely handled out of office. Policies handed down from the Earth King are nonexistent. Information regarding the war is suspiciously absent. The only thing he had found were communications between the lord and the four merchants of the town.

So, Zuko had headed there next.

Two out of three he had hit so far had no evidence of trade with the North Western half of the kingdom, and the sparse findings on Fire Nation movement were months out of date. That did _not_ make sense; they weren’t gathering enough wealth or power to influence the next town over, much less protect the entire region. The third had a frankly disgusting show of corruption and illegal contraband dealings, but in the grand scheme of things, his presence was negligible (though not negligible for Zuko’s mission). That leaves the oh so honorable and great Merchant Beifong.

That is, after he deals with Guo, the illegal contraband dealer. Instructional bending scrolls are definitely some sort of a lead to find the Avatar, or something, no matter how vague the direction is. Water and fire bending scrolls made sense, but air bending scrolls? What could a third-rate merchant do with air bending scrolls? Where did he even get them?

He needs to pay Guo another visit.

He should have gone last night, but he’d been…tired. Toph had knocked him around, and his bruises had ached, and he had thought he would have more time to do things. For once, sleep had seemed more appealing. Not to mention that his body was starting to protest. It wouldn’t do any good to get caught.

That was last night. It had seemed to be a decent idea. But now, as he takes a look at Guo’s house from a shadowy alley, he sees more guards than before. They’re right out front, two pairs patrolling the fence. Zuko knows that the man surely does not have the money for such an extravagant show of force, unless he had missed something when looking over the financial records. That leaves in question whether all these guards are for show, or if they are more inside. 

He gets moving, casually making his way down the alley and out onto the main street. It’s midday, and his stomach is rumbling, but he still needs to get a read on the Beifong estate.

The mansion is outside of the city, a little bit to the North, easy to find thanks to the road. As the path goes from paved cobblestone to packed dirt, he hops off it and into the glade of trees to the west, walking parallel to the road through the trees. He doesn’t want to be spotted by the guards or other visitors of the Beifongs.

From there, he manages to find himself on the west side of the estate. The gate opens to the south, two guards posted there, trees and bushes peeking over the walls. He’s too far to get a look inside. He needs to get closer. He watches for a while, counting the minutes between each patrol of guards. Then, after the latest patrol rounds the corner, he takes a running start and vaults himself up the wall. He has about five minutes.

The entire southern section of the estate is made up of an extravagant courtyard, with a grove of bare trees, a pond large enough to warrant a bridge, a gazebo, and hedges. Definitely the largest, wealthiest estate Zuko has seen in a while. The northern part is the housing area, made up of four separate buildings as far as he could tell from this angle. The layout is different enough from what he has seen so far that he isn’t sure which building would contain Beifong’s business dealings. If he has to guess, the main house is in the very back, two stories tall, and the servants’ quarters are to the west of it. But what’s throwing him off is the number of guards around the smaller, eastern building.

If news had spread about Zuko’s searches (which he’s pretty sure it has, because he couldn’t just take the fire bending scrolls from Guo without pointing a very obvious target, so he had wrecked the place and taken more than he had really wanted, to muddle things for them), then Beifong could have taken the same precautions as Guo. More guards to keep out unwanted visitors.

Three minutes have passed. He slides off the wall and back into the trees. This is going to be messy if he has to search more than one building.

…

Toph has slippers on, and more than anything she wants to tear them off and throw them at the wall, so she can shift the earth and make that dumb healer trip. But she can’t, because her mother is sitting right across from her and things would get very awkward very quickly. Even with the interference, she can track the healer for a few moments as he makes his way to the main house, pinpoint the moment he stops to say something to a guard.

The healer’s a quack, if Toph has ever seen one. He recommended pai sho and exercise, to strengthen her mind and chi, respectively. Pai sho is the worst, especially because of the stupid custom carved game set her parents had commissioned in some sort of hope of having her become more refined. They hadn’t used it in years. What a pain.

Her mother leans forward against the table, let’s out the smallest sight. “It’s worth a try,” she says, though she doesn’t sound convinced, “Why don’t we have a game tonight?”

“He’s a quack,” Toph says.

“Toph!” she admonishes, “That’s no way to speak about an esteemed healer.”

“Fine. He’s an esteemed healer,” she says sarcastically.

“Toph, please.”

“Sorry.”

A pause. She’s tapping her fingers against the table, nervous, and Toph is surprised that she can recognize this so easily from her. Something has changed.

“We need to talk, Toph. About…” she trails off, clears her throat. “About bending.”

“Okay.”

“I was trying to teach you control, but I think it is…impossible the way I am. The way you are.”

She’s taking a deep breath, and Toph stays silent.

“I tried procuring some instructional scrolls, but they were waylaid.”

She can’t help but snort, which isn’t very lady like, and her mother gives an admonishing cluck of her tongue, but she doesn’t care. “What am I supposed to do with _scrolls_ , mom?”

“I would guide you through the movements,” she replies, sounding affronted. “At the very least, it would have been better than what we are doing now.”

Toph could agree with that, though getting a real fire bender is the actual best thing they could do. A dragon would be even better, but neither of those things are going to happen because of the whole war thing. And Sparky doesn’t count; his whole chi suppression deal would not be good for teaching.

But... if there’s one person in this family who could maybe find a fire bending instructor, it isn’t either of them. It’s her father. With his resources and money, he could do a lot more. “Why haven’t you told dad?’

Another pause, full of tension. Her mother has stopped tapping her fingers, going very still. Abruptly it’s like she is sitting a continent away, and Toph can’t tell what her heart or breath is saying. It’s a bad feeling, like a chill falling over her. She squares her shoulders against that, plants her feet firmly. “Mom?”

“Your father is less understanding about these things.”

“I am his daughter.”

“Yes.”

“He cares about me.”

“Yes.”

“And still you won’t tell him?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

She clears her throat, tucks her hands into her sleeves. “The world is complicated. Your father is a better man than most, but he is still a man. He still wants to further the great Beifong legacy.”

“And what does that make me? Useless?”

“No,” she says, but too slowly, and it’s like a punch to the gut. “No. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” she says, anger and _hurt_ in her voice that she can’t keep back. “Why can’t he know?”

“The world is complicated,” she repeats, her heart rate a hummingbird’s beak against a flower. Her hands are still tucked in her sleeves, tremulous, to hide her weakness, but Toph can see it either way. “Liars are not so easily forgiven. Quarrels are not so easily forgotten.”

“You’re afraid,” she says, accusing, leaning forward and pointing a finger. Her mother gives another cluck, but again she ignores it, because, “You’re afraid that dad is going to…what? Divorce you?”

The silence is enough of an answer.

She sits back, furious. Her mother is just sitting there, as if she hadn’t just threatened divorce last night herself, as if she’s blameless and, oh, the world is so _complicated_ , can you believe it? Boohoo. “You’re a hypocrite.”

A sharp inhale. Toph knows she’s gone too far. Her mother stands up. “I can see you’re…agitated. We can continue this conversation when you are in a better mood.”

“Fine,” she bites out. “Guess that puts off our little pai sho game for tonight, then. Why don’t you send that servant in instead? What’s her name, Nang? At least she doesn’t make excuses.”

“Fine,” her mother says. “If that’s what you want.” And she sweeps out of the room, all prim and proper, the sound of her rustling skirts filling the room.

…

Zuko heads back into town, stomach rumbling. The Beifong estate refused to reveal any more secrets, so he had called it a day. It’s edging into late afternoon, but there’s a restaurant still serving, at half price too, so he slides into line. A scoop of broth with cabbage and noodles, pickled vegetables on the side.

“We’re out of meat,” the old woman behind the counter says kindly, as if she’s sorry about it.

He never expected meat, and he has no idea why she chose to tell him this. He just nods, scoots past her with the tray, and looks over the apparent spread of condiments. He expects the garlic oil mix, pickled ginger, vinegar, but the red oil catches him by surprise. He stops, the person behind him grumbling as they move around him, and he picks up the container, sniffs it. Definitely spicy chili oil. He feels the old woman watching him, her gaze burning against his back, and he half turns, catching her with the scarred side of his face. His vision is limited, blurry and lacking color, but movement is easy to spot. She turns away, and only then does he scoop a generous portion into his bowl.

He pays, sits down in a dusty corner. The soup is good, a full flavor profile that catches him off guard. This is probably the best thing he’s eaten since he lost command of his ship. He savors it, eating slowly.

As he goes to leave, the old woman catches his arm in the doorway, and he stiffens. She hastily lets go, plastering a jovial smile on her face. “Here dear,” she says, extending a small cloth wrapped package towards him, “A little treat. Mochi.”

He freezes.

“I know how hard it can be, away from home,” she says, “The food just isn’t the same, is it?”

And he meets her eyes, sees a light brown that would glow amber under the summer sun. Her smile is warm, eyes gentle, and his throat tightens at that. But he knows what she sees when she looks at him: dull eyes, burn scar, skinny teenage boy, and he hates it. Hates the false sense of camaraderie, the pity. He is not a deserter. He is not from the colonies. He is Prince Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, prince to the nation and—

He is banished, nothing more than a thief.

The woman guides his hand to the package, touch gentle against his wrist. “Come again.”

He lets it hang from her grip, his fingers brushing against the cloth. It feels cold, even though he knows it’s not. Pity and charity, and he should not accept it. It is a risk, a reminder that he is easy to read. Uncle would accept it. Clutch the woman’s hands and bow to her, as if she is more than the worst kind of earth kingdom peasant, a deserter. He is not his Uncle. He cannot bring himself to lower his head.

He takes it, says, “Thank you.” It comes out rough, rasping.

The woman smiles, nonetheless.

He goes back to the inn, stops by the stables to see how the ostrich-horse is doing. She preens his hair, and he rubs her nose. They are both well-rested, well-fed, for the first time in a long time. He has everything he would need to start traveling again. Tomorrow night, after he investigates the Beifongs, he would leave.

Walking up to his room, he sits down on the mattress. The straw pokes through into his pants, but he ignores it. Undoes the package. Soft and sweet rice cakes, rice flour turning his fingertips white and oddly smooth. There are four in total, and he can’t help but eat two of them. Licks his fingers clean. He hasn’t had mochi in years.

The sun is setting behind the mountains, the light turning his room red and orange.

He had thought Toph would pop out of the woodwork, like before, but she hadn’t. Maybe she has school. He scoffs at that thought, trying to imagine her going to the Earth Kingdom equivalent of the Royal Academy for girls. She would bury everyone in that room. He almost feels a little bad about having to leave without saying goodbye, but it’s fine. After all, he barely knows her. He’s sure she has much better things to do than show him badger-mole caves.

The shadows are lengthening, the sky rapidly turning dark, and he gets ready.

…

Nang is sixteen years old. An old sixteen, almost seventeen. Her birthday is in a few days, right after her little brother’s. It’s a funny little coincidence that has plagued her for the past twelve years, and she thinks not much is going to change this year, especially after he was accepted into the prestigious earth bending academy.

Especially after her older brother had returned from the front.

Especially after her parents’ restaurant started to lose business to the new one across the street.

So, when Lady Beifong had woken her up last night, she thought her luck was turning around. It meant she had been noticed, her hard work, her dedication. Perhaps she would get a nice bonus.

Not so much. Things hadn’t gone as planned, and Nang regretted it all. No one had found the little lady, no one wanted to be punished for not finding Toph. Then, _she_ had been chosen to accompany Toph as her parents decided what to do. Not her ideal night. She had no idea why she chose to speak to Toph. It was like she had been possessed, seeing the girl hunched in her blankets, so very…lonely.

There are lines servants are not meant to cross, and she had crossed several of them that night. She could not stay and watch as the little lady told her parents every mistake she had made, so she fled. And waited.

And waited.

Morning came, and she went about her business as usual, waiting for Lady Beifong to call her and reprimand her, maybe even fire her. But it never came.

Until that evening, when she is requested to attend Toph. A promotion of sorts, the others in the kitchen eyeing her enviously, but it feels more like a death sentence. The little lady has never shown interest in servants before, but Nang has the feeling it’s not a good thing she’s showing it now.

“Lady Toph,” she says, through the door to the girl’s bedroom. “It’s Nang.”

A pause, then, “Come in.”

Nang spares a glance at the guards at the door and slides it open. Toph is sitting at the table near the window, hair loose around her face, dressed in her pajamas. She tilts her head towards her, eyebrows furrowing, mouth drawn into a frown. “Are you here for the game of pai sho?”

Nang blinks. “Uh, if that is what's required of me.”

She makes her way over, taking the seat across. The pai sho pieces are custom carved, so that Toph can feel them out by touch, but the girl had never shown much interest in the game before. Nang is going to have to say her moves out loud, and she desperately tries to remember all the names of the pieces. Her experience in pai sho is limited, and she always confuses the jade flower and lily pieces. Her little brother had beat her more than once because of her fumbles.

“Which set of rules?” Nang asks, hoping that it will be the official set and not the traditional one. The rules are more complicated in the traditional version of the game, and she would never remember them all.

“The official set,” Toph replies, and Nang almost sags in relief. “Though I’ve always wanted to learn the gambling variation.”

“I’m afraid that’s outside of my knowledge.”

Toph sighs, magnanimously gesturing with her hand. “Guest goes first.”

They play. Nang announces her moves to the best of her ability, but she does mix up the white jade and lily tiles at one point, and Toph _corrects_ her, somehow. Whether it’s excellent memory or something else, she doesn’t really want to know. It’s a little mortifying. Luckily, Nang is still winning so far, but she definitely shouldn’t be feeling as pleased about that as she is.

“Nang,” Toph says, “How long have you been working here?”

“Three years, almost. The next month will make it officially three.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Lady Toph. White jade to gate four, tile b3.”

Toph has her hands resting against the edges of the board, her eyes narrowing at nothing. She looks… annoyed, for lack of a better word. “If you do not mind me asking, Lady Toph, but why are we playing pai sho?”

“Haven’t you heard? The healer prescribed it,” she says offhandedly, placing down the rock tile. Nang frowns. “Something about clearing my mind before going to sleep to prevent other… episodes.” And Toph smiles, something sharp and caustic that sets Nang on edge.

“Oh. Uh, Rose to gate three, tile c5.”

Toph moves her own rose piece to mirror hers. “So, Nang. I've been hearing things about a spirit, lately.”

Nang swallows, mouth dry. How did this sheltered girl find out about the spirit? The Beifongs would not want their daughter to know about it, despite it being the talk of the town. It would disrupt her delicate constitution, or send her into a panic, or. Or nothing. Jade combs are expensive to replace, and Nang owes her. She is nothing if not loyal. “What would you like to know?”

“What’s it done?”

“There are rumors,” she says, moving a tile randomly. “Jasmine to gate 4 tile b7.”

Toph taps a finger against the board. “No need to stall.”

Nang swallows, considers. “There’s old man Fa, down in the main market. Swears up and down that a blue face appeared out of the darkness when he was walking home. Strung him up faster than he could shout. But… he’s a known drunkard.”

The little lady says nothing. It feels as if she’s staring her down, though no eye contact is being made. It feels like a hand at the nape of her neck, a frown. Nang rushes on, “They’re calling it the Blue spirit. There has been odd tapping on roofs at night, broken shingles, pickens going missing…”

“Nang, look at me.”

She looks up, uncertain. Toph’s gaze is trained a little too far to the right. “Yes?”

“There must be more to it, if my parents are concerned.”

“Well…I suppose there are rumors that merchants are losing valuables from their homes. Your parents might be worried about that. It could just be a thief, though.”

Toph snorts, leans back in her chair. “Your turn.”

She glances down. Odd. She could’ve sworn her rose tile had been at a different spot. Making her move, she opens her mouth to say—

“That’s it?” Toph says, “That’s all it’s done?”

“As I told you, Lady Toph, it’s just rumors.”

“Boring,” she sighs, idly placing down the white lotus tile. “What’s my mom so worked up about?”

“I dare not guess what thoughts Lady Beifong has.”

The girl smiles. Nang realizes she’s losing.

They spend the rest of the game in silence, with Nang urgently trying to make up for lost ground. It seems Toph has gotten the gist of the game and is now trying to brutally crush her.

…

After the Beifong estate, Guo’s house looks like a peasant’s hovel. Just two buildings, one very obviously the main house and the other’s the servants. Security has been tightened inside, which is a surprise (where was the man getting the money?) and there are guards posted around every entry to point to the office, but he isn’t heading there. The man has a wife, but they don’t share beds, so Zuko is quite lucky in how things play out.

Up the back wall, pressing himself against the roof to get to the bedroom windows. In through one of them, prying open the shutters with his blades. He knows Guo doesn’t go to bed this early, so he has time to place an unfurled air bending scroll onto the bed. Then he tucks himself up in the corner of the ceiling on top of the canopy bed, the wood creaking under his feet, and he waits for Guo. Hopefully, he won’t have to hang around too long, because his thighs are going to kill him.

Somewhere around fourteen minutes pass before Guo waltzes in, without a care in the world, carrying a lantern that Zuko has to blink at. The man is dressed in his night robes, yawning, ink stains on his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He busies himself around the room, setting a cloying incense to burn. Sandalwood, Zuko recognizes. Zuko's always disliked sandalwood. Finally, the man turns to the bed. He gasps, rushing to the scroll.

Zuko gently edges out of his hiding spot, legs protesting at the movement.

The bed frame creaks.

Guo stiffens.

Zuko quickly snuffs out the light with a twitch of his chi, sliding forward off the bed frame and landing behind Guo. The man is turning, too slow, and Zuko has a hand around his mouth and a sword against his windpipe before he can yell. The man lets out a muffled squeak, going rigid.

“Honorable Merchant Guo,” he says into his ear, “Why don’t we have a chat.”

…

It’s only after Nang bids Toph good night, nods to the guards, and is making her way back to the servant’s quarters that she realizes she had not said her moves out loud for the rest of the game. Yet, Toph had known exactly where to place her tiles, hands placidly folded on the edge of the board. It doesn’t make sense, and she can’t help but think of how the tiles and board are carved from stone. How a jade comb was so perfectly repaired.

Rounding a corner, she bumps into someone. Her nose hurts, and she jumps back to see that it’s Lady Beifong. The woman beams, the lantern swaying in her hands.

“Are you alright, Nang?”

She’s dipping into a low bow. “Terribly sorry, Lady Beifong.”

“Think nothing of it,” she says, airily. There’s a hand on Nang’s shoulder, and she almost flinches. Lady Beifong draws her up into a standing position. “Were you coming from Toph’s room?”

Nang nods. The lady’s hand is still on her shoulder, hot almost, as if it’s burning through Nang’s robes, and she has to stop herself from brushing her off.

“Is she doing alright?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing?” she asks, lips smiling but eyes cold. Hand on shoulder. Nang swallows, feeling as if she has done something very, very wrong.

“Playing pai sho, Lady Beifong, as the healer ordered.”

“Oh,” she says, softly, and the hand drops. Nang almost slumps in relief, but she has been taught better than that, and her posture remains straight. “Oh, I was hoping to play with her.”

And Nang is bowing again, blushing. “I—I’m so sorry, Lady Beifong! If I had known, I would have—”

“It’s quite alright,” the lady replies, again drawing her up to stand. Again, hand on shoulder, demure, kind smile, but such cold eyes. Something’s wrong, something’s off, but Nang does not know what. She knows she wants to run. But she has been taught better than that. “It’s Toph’s prerogative, after all. Was she any good?”

“An excellent player. I will be getting out of your way now, as I’m sure you have much to do—”

Hand still on shoulder, tighter. “Wait, Nang. Could you make me that delicious chrysanthemum tea again?”

She swallows, smiles. Inclines her head. “I would be honored, Lady Beifong.”

…

They end up in the sitting room again, in much of the same position as last night. Lady Beifong again pours for Nang, which she accepts with a flustered bow of her head.

“How is your family?” she asks, elegantly sipping from her cup.

Nang follows suit because it is decorum. The tea tastes like nothing, like hot leaf juice. “They are well, thank you for asking.”

“Your brother was discharged earlier this year, yes? How is he?”

Of course, the lady of the estate would know this. “He is adjusting,” she answers. She will not detail her brother’s hardships for this noble lady, for her amusement.

“I’m glad. I heard rumors about his injuries…it’s a shame, though. Without his stipend and the recent troubles your family has had with the restaurant…”

Nang does not respond, going frigid. She is angry that her personal business has been reduced to nothing more than a pitying comment from a noble woman, but she waits for where Lady Beifong will take this. A nausea snakes up her throat, making her clutch her teacup too tight. For a moment, she thinks the woman notices this, her unease and anger, but she must have just imagined it because the lady’s eyes never leave hers.

“To have such misfortune when your little brother was just accepted into the prestigious bending academy, why the fees there are not cheap.”

“They are not,” she says, carefully enunciating each consonant to keep herself calm.

“Of course, I am quite good friends with the headmaster. I could suggest a waive of costs.”

There is an if in that statement that Lady Beifong is not stating. She stares at Nang, face deceptively blank and soft, as if they're discussing the cutest dog-deer in town. Eyes cold, still. Belatedly, Nang realizes she wants her to say it, to ask the question, to dig her own grave. To refuse would be foolishness, but to accept asks for something different. She chooses her words carefully, picking them out as if they are flowers for a bouquet. “If you were to do so, Lady Beifong, I would be eternally grateful.”

A pause, another careful sip by the lady, eyes so focused it feels as if she’s trying to burn a hole into Nang’s head. “Your eternal gratitude must be very precious.”

She bows her head again, staring at the tabletop, face burning. “I—I would not dare suggest this, Lady Beifong.”

“Then, what _are_ you suggesting?”

Nang’s mind scrambles, and she forces herself to take a mouthful of tea, to stall for time. To think. The taste is sticky in her mouth, and she swallows heavily. Because the lady has gone insane, showing a carrot one second then a stick the next. What does she want? Nang has no money, no influence. Just the daughter of failing restaurant owners, her elder brother grievously injured and her younger with this one prospect. “I have nothing but myself to offer, Lady Beifong. It shames me to say it, for I know it is not enough.”

“Silly girl,” the lady clucks, and she gathers her courage to dart a glance at the woman. Her gaze has shifted away from Nang, to beyond the walls of this room. “You should not promise yourself so easily, just for the fees of your little brother’s school. You do not even know what I wish for in exchange. What if I asked you to lie for me? To steal? To spy and cheat?”

“You would never do such a thing.”

A self-deprecating smile that suggests the opposite. “How naïve,” she says, indulgently, as if she’s speaking to a very small child. Nang feels herself going cold, but she bites the inside of her cheek and this is enough to snap her out of it. “Do you know what I want, Nang?”

Nang raises her head and meets the lady’s eyes. They are not cold anymore. Instead, she looks sad. She places her cup down, rests her chin on her hand. “I want my daughter to be safe, that’s all. For that to happen, I need to be able to know what’s going on with her, even when she won’t speak to me. So, you will tell me what my daughter has said to you. You will be her friend. You will share the secrets that she does not want to tell me. And, in return, I will use my influence to make your brother’s fees disappear. What do you say?”

This is wrong, Nang wants to say. This isn’t right. Your daughter should not have secrets stolen from her by someone who she thinks is her friend. I am not the person you are looking for. I cannot do this. I will not do this. Instead, she says, “I would be honored, Lady Beifong.”

The woman smiles. It reaches her eyes this time. “Tell me, what did Toph speak to you about?”

…

Toph dreams again.

She’s moving down empty hallways, distant voices coming through the cold, cold walls. Into her bedroom, throwing herself on the piles of furs. Sleep. She wakes up at the crack of dawn. Goes to the training yard. Practices earth bending. Lunch. More bending practice. Dinner. She pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, and everyone hushes, bows. Something feels empty inside her chest. She goes to sleep.

Again. This time, after dinner, she waits in the shadows, listens to the conversation in the kitchen. When she steps out, ready to join, everyone goes silent.

Next time, she does not step out of the shadows. Just listens.

Again and again and again—

“This sucks,” she says to herself in a voice that is not her own but close enough.

Up she goes, back through those empty hallways, someone stopping her for a moment, but she explains she just needs to see her friend. Across a field of ice, high walls blocking the horizon, to the stables. And she finds her friend (this time), curls her fingers into her coarse, white pelt, murmuring a breath of joy into her ears. Saddled up, she climbs on top, pauses to rub behind the ears. They go outside the walls, and the friend breaks into a sprint, leading them at breakneck speeds.

She whoops, her voice echoing through the empty expanse. They come to a stop at a cliff, waves crashing below, the sun hovering on the horizon, refusing to set. Behind her, she knows there are guards from the compound, carefully watching, to make sure she won’t run off. For a moment, she lets herself imagine it. Imagine diving into the ocean below, freezing the water into a shelf of ice that will carry her far beyond the South pole. It would be easy, until she ran out of energy and froze to death.

It’s edging into sleeping hours, and she knows the guards behind her are uncomfortable. She closes her eyes, breathes in cold air that tastes like the salty ocean.

“I have you Naga,” she says to the polar bear dog. Naga whines in reply. She doesn’t understand.

She feels very alone then, isolated on an ice shelf with her only friend, people always watching her, always maintaining that careful distance. Something fills her chest, like her heart is aching and her lungs are full of hot air.

She needs to go, to leave before it’s too late, does she understand? Before it’s too late, or she will be the same as before and then the world will continue to destroy itself. Go! Go now! Before the sky scorches the earth and—

Toph wakes up, tears again, gasping for breath.

It’s night still, guards at her doors and the windows. She stands, throwing her covers off. “I need to go,” she says.

One of the guards opens the door, ducks his head in. “Lady Toph, you’re awake. Are you alright?”

She turns towards him, fists clenched, her toes cracking the tiles underneath. Jittery, too much inside of her. She needs to go. “Bring me—” my mom, she wants to say. But. But what would her mother do with the truth? What would her father?

Locked in a compound, even more guards. She wouldn’t be able to stand it. She already can’t. “Bring me some water,” she says, then adds on, “Please.”

One of them leaves, the other cautiously stepping into her room. He’s going to her, leading her back to her bed as if she wouldn’t know where it is after all these years, and he’s saying something, but she can’t hear him over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason Toph got away with playing dumb is because she didn't do that thing where you make a pillow look like it's your body or whatever. Take notes, Katara.


	4. Complications

A sickly drizzle has swept in as Zuko makes his escape from Guo’s house; thick sheets of sleet that fall from the sky and make his teeth chatter so loudly he has to clench his jaw to stop his brain from rattling out of his skull. With every step across the rooftops, his feet find the barest trace of traction on the slick tiles. But still he does not come down, because this is the easiest and fastest way to get back to his inn room undetected. 

And it helps him think. 

There are three things Zuko knows.

First, from many years ago:

“Airbenders are like cockroaches,” his father had told him at a rare family dinner, all four of them gathered around a table, steamed fish at the center. “Scurrying over rooftops and hiding in trees like diseased vermin.” 

A tile slips out from underneath him, and he barely manages to keep his balance, careening forward and landing on his hands. Far below, he hears it shatter against the ground. 

“Prince Zuko, what is the best way to deal with cockroaches?” his father asks. 

Second, from earlier that night:

“The pirates on the southern coast,” Guo had blubbered, shaking so badly that Zuko thought the man might just slit his own neck on the blades and save Zuko the trouble. “That’s where I’m getting the airbending scrolls. I’m sending them to the university in Ba Sing Se, to preserve the cultural heritage.” 

That’s stupid, Zuko thinks. The earth kingdom trying to ‘save’ air nomad culture. The air nomads are still alive. The only use for these knickknacks is as--

“--bait,” Azula had said from beside Zuko when he had failed to give an answer to their father. She was smiling, voice high with delight at getting to one up him, chopsticks poised in her hand as if they were weapons. “Then, you turn their allies against each other, eliminating all hiding places.”

Third, also from earlier that night:

“The firebending scrolls were specially commissioned,” Guo had stammered, “I actually received them the very day you--you came. They’re expensive, you see. A day laborer could save their whole life and never afford one, not to mention the whole set.” Then he had snapped his mouth shut, as if he was suddenly afraid, as if he had said too much.

Zuko could read between the lines easily enough.

How many people in Gaoling could afford such an extravagant waste of money? The list is short, and Zuko is quite sure that he already crossed off two out of three of the names, which left only the Beifongs.

Perhaps they were collectors, looking to expand their inventory. That’s the most likely theory. They have no children, and the couple is old enough that it doesn’t make sense for one of them to spontaneously discover that they can firebend.

Zuko goes in through the window that he had left open, shoes wet, not bothering to hide his tracks. Lightning strikes close by, the thunder shaking the building. The roof is leaking, dripping onto the mattress.

Great.

He slams the window shut, watching as the water leaks through the blinds. Then he shucks off his mask, taking a deep breath that isn’t half frozen water. The rain rhythmically drips from the ceiling, and he shoves the mattress out of the way. The straw would start to rot, if it hasn’t already. 

He’s steaming the water off his clothes, flames licking between his lips as he brings his body temperature back up to normal. But soon enough, he is shivering again, his energy fizzling out.

Opening the door to the hallway, he finds a bucket left there. That goes under the leak, and he pulls the leftover mochi out of his bag. He chews thoughtfully between undressing. The last piece he saves for later. 

As he sits on the edge of the mattress to wipe down his blades, something snags onto the edges of his thoughts. “My grandmother is a firebender,” he says, the sentence ringing in his mind. A cool night, stone crumbling into sand under a girl’s hands. “Toph.”

A day laborer might not be able to afford the scrolls, but it’s a different story for the reigning champion of Earth Rumble V. If she combines her earnings with what her parents make, then there’s a chance they could have afforded the scrolls. That could be true for any family in Gaoling with fire in their blood, whether they were champions of underground fighting rings or not. The woman working at the restaurant, for example, looks like she had an established business. Even she could afford a scroll or two, if she saved. 

He sheaths his swords in one swift motion and slides the scabbards under the mattress. But that doesn’t explain why Guo would be nervous. 

The plink of water against the bucket is loud, distracting him, and he hears his father say, “Prince Zuko, why can you not answer such a simple question when your little sister can?”

He doesn’t know enough. 

He needs to know the firebending scrolls are just for an elite’s collection or a stray bender, and not some fool’s attempt to teach the Avatar firebending. Because it had happened before, with the last air Avatar. The air nomads couldn’t find a firebending instructor for the Avatar, so they turned to scrolls. Which is stupid. Learning from pieces of paper is a good stepping stone, but for true mastery, a mentor is needed. Everyone knows that.

Tomorrow night, after this horrible rain dissipates, he will hit the Beifongs. That leaves him with a day to fill. Talk to the restaurant woman from yesterday, gather supplies, and scope out the Beifong’s estate. He can do all of that. 

Laying down on the mattress, he very carefully avoids the wet spot. Until dawn arrives and the storm passes, he can afford some sleep. 

…

Toph’s mother is in her room, sliding the door open with enough force that Toph is instantly awake, the sound loud enough to pull her out of the half-sleep she had managed after the nightmare.

“Training,” she says, voice strained with something Toph is too tired to place.

She lets herself be steered in front of the fireplace without much thought, her mind still wandering through the southern tundra. Her mother busies herself around the room, lighting the fire, the sound of something solid thumping against the stone floor and water sloshing in a bucket.

The fire is crackling.

“Focus,” her mother says from near her shoulder. “Feel the fire’s energy become your own.”

Toph rouses herself, her head pounding. The fire is smaller than usual, but her mother is gently feeding it wood. Her annoyance comes in full force, piercing through the fog in her brain. She can’t believe her mother dragged her out of bed, especially after their fight yesterday. She thought it would at least give her a day off from dealing with this bullshit. 

“This again?” she asks.

“Toph,” her mother says, warning clear in her voice, “Do as I say. Try this time, really try.”

“I have been,” Toph snaps. “I thought you said this wasn’t working.”

“Please. Please just try again. I promise this will be the final time I ask this of you.”

This time, Toph picks up the desperation in her voice. It’s palpable, making her skin crawl and her stomach drop. Hard to miss. Why would this be the final time? Does she think that Toph can’t do it?

So, she shuts up and tries concentrating. The fire is too loud, and her mother’s receding footsteps are somehow both too loud and too soft, which doesn’t make sense. All she knows is that not getting enough sleep is making this more of a pain than it usually is. 

The fire is growing louder, and she can feel it brushing against her knees, that _heat._ It flares forward and back in time with her headache. She’s sweating.

Zuko comes to mind, the only firebender she has ever met, the spark in his hands, his breath pulling the flame into his control. The pulse at the base of his stomach, the flow and beat of his chi, similar but different to her own. Can she match it?

Fire burns. She knows this. But it does not burn a firebender when they wield it. If the fire is to be hers to control, she will not be burnt.

She will not be burnt.

She concentrates the chi in her stomach and _reaches_ for the flame. 

At that moment, she’s both aware of her mother jumping to her feet, the chair falling over as she rushes forward, and the fire eagerly licking her palms, too hot, but she does not yank her hand out, not yet, because she hears the shape of the flame, like Zuko’s pulse. It stings, and she loses her focus, her mother’s voice ringing in the room, unintelligible. But she feeds a line of her chi into her hand, where it flares under skin, and suddenly she feels its beat. She coaxes a piece of it out.

“There,” Toph says, smiling sharply, turning to face her mother. She’s stopped in her tracks, something like horror beating in her chest, like fear in her shaking hands. Toph stands, feels the cheerful warmth of the flame, and tosses it from hand to hand. Its trail blazes, sizzling and cracking and sparking. “Fire.”

“Put it down,” she demands. “It’s not safe.”

“Why?” she asks. The shape of the fire is clearer than ever, its heat a stark blot against the cold room. The fireplace behind her is so much stronger, reflecting lines of energy, casting heat up the stone chimney. She concentrates even harder, hearing the gentle hum of it in her hands, her mother’s heartbeat a stark contrast to that. Almost unwillingly, her focus shifts to her mother, and she loses her breath, because for a brilliant moment, she can feel the warmth of her mother’s body, even from this distance, a crescendo of energy—

The flame goes out in her hand, and her concentration breaks.

For a second, they’re both frozen, her mother’s breath stuck in her chest, and Toph reeling from the sudden burst of that something.

“That was terribly dangerous,” her mother chides, recovering, her voice trembling, walking over to Toph. The fire goes out with a hiss, and Toph feels flecks of water splash against her shoes. “Let me see your hands.”

Toph holds them out. The skin of the palm she put into the fire feels hot, and when her mother pokes at it, Toph flinches.

“You’ve burned yourself,” she says, disbelieving. “Why would you do something so foolish?”

Her mother is pulling her along now. A wave of colder air as they step outside, her mother grunting from the effort of pumping out the water. The splash of water hits the bucket, and then she’s guided to submerge her hands into the water. Cold.

“Now, we know, don’t we?” Toph says.

“What?”

“That I really can firebend.”

“That—” she stops herself, let’s out a shaky breath. “Yes. You can. But you shouldn’t—you can’t do that so carelessly.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you are not. Fire is dangerous. It grows if unguided, consumes if uncontrolled. With how—” she cuts herself off again, but then decides to keep going, but quieter, resigned, “With how you are, control will be impossible.”

This shuts Toph up. With all the extra time she has been spending with her, Toph has forgotten how her mother sees her. Weak and blind, to be carefully controlled and guided, like a flower in a greenhouse. She feels like throwing up, like screaming and stomping her feet. But she doesn’t. She stays silent and knows with terrible clarity that in her mother’s eyes, that is as good as acceptance.

…

Toph stands still as Nang dresses her. Her hands are shaky, but Toph pretends not to notice. It’s a surprise to see her again. First pai sho, now acting as her personal handmaid. Before, there was a rotating group of women that would help Toph dress. But that’s changed, all thanks to her mother. It’s always her mother, taking her words so seriously when she shouldn’t have. 

“Lady Toph,” Nang says, then stops, her back towards Toph. She’s paused over the dresser, holding something thin and delicate that Toph can’t place.

“What?”

“Is your hand alright?”

Toph flexes her hand, feeling the bandages stretch. The pain has come in now, after the exhilaration of bending fire wore out. But it’s just a dull sting, easy to ignore. “I’m fine.”

The teenager turns around, stepping closer. “I’m glad. If there’s any pain, please let me know, and I will call for a healer.”

“Sure.”

Nang pulls Toph’s hair back and inserts the headband. There’s a tickle on Toph’s forehead that tells her Nang had missed some strands. She sighs, takes it out, and tries again.

“You are a skilled earth bender, to be able to bend jade,” Nang says. 

Toph frowns, thrown off by the sudden change in subject. But, at least Nang knows greatness when she sees it. “Jade is easy. It’s like any other rock.”

Again, another pause, Nang walking to Toph’s front, gently patting her hair down. “Is that so? Forgive me, for I am not an earth bender myself.”

“Yep. It’s got the same feeling as other dirt. You just have to recognize it. After that, it’s easy to bend.”

“The same feeling?”

“It’s not a physical thing, like whether it’s smooth or rough. It’s more like the…substance.” Toph frowns, adjusts her skirt. “Sorry, I don’t know how to describe it to a non-bender.”

“I see.”

Toph snorts.

Nang combs her hair. It takes her a few tries to put it into a bun, more than any of the older servants. A little too tight, and Toph wonders if she should complain to her mother. What would she do then?

“You had a long conversation with my mother last night,” Toph says, casually.

Nang startles, almost dropping the comb again. “What—how did you—”

She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. Nang’s heartbeat is ricocheting into high gear, her hands trembling even more as she sets the comb down onto the table with a click. “The walls are thin,” Toph says with a shrug, “and your footsteps are loud.”

The teenager stays silent, leaning against the table.

“She doesn’t do that with just anyone.”

The silence stretches, Nang frozen, and Toph shrugs, holding out a hand for the last bit of her outfit, the sash. The material slips into her hand, and she arranges it around herself, letting it dangle over her elbows. It’s delicate fabric, so easy to tear.

“Are you going to be my personal maid from now on?”

“…if that is what you wish, Lady Toph.”

Toph snorts again. As if it’s her choice. “Let’s get along, then.”

…

“So, how was it serving Toph?”

“Lady Toph,” Nang corrects, from her spot at the dough rolling station. The other kitchen workers are all listening in, ears perked, even as they go about their business.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “Lady Toph, then. Come on, Nang. Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“She’s…interesting.”

There’s some oohing from the others. Nang concentrates on rolling out the wrappers into perfect circles.

“That just means weird, right?”

“…maybe.”

“Definitely,” someone whispers.

“I don’t know,” Nang confesses. “She’s confusing. One second I think she’s going to kick me out, and then the next she’s telling me let’s get along! I’m not experienced enough to be some noble lady’s personal handmaid.”

“I’ll say,” the girl laughs. “These noble lords and ladies all like playing their little games. But at least you’re getting a pay raise, right?”

Nang frowns, and the wrapper she’s rolling out tears. Too thin. She bunches it up and starts again.

“Nang, you _are_ getting a pay raise, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Everyone stops for a moment, the clattering and low murmurs falling silent. Then it starts up again, and her friend says, “Well... that sucks.”

The boy who’s stoking the fire pipes up, “Isn’t Toph scary? ”

“Don’t let the lady and lord catch you saying that, Lihuo,” Nang says. 

“It’s true though! Especially with her disappearing act. How does she do that stuff?”

“She’s a good earthbender,” Nang says. “That’s my theory, anyways.”

Again silence. Nang looks up from her dough. Everyone is staring at her.

“What?”

“Nang,” her friend says slowly, “Toph isn’t taking earth bending lessons anymore.”

“Because she advanced out of that level.” More staring. “Right?”

People are shaking their heads, and her friend pats her on the shoulder, getting flour onto her shirt. “She’s blind, Nang. They’ve been keeping her on breathing exercises and basic stances for such a long time that,” she leans in close, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “that her parents are thinking she might not be a bender.”

Nang puts down the rolling pin. Blinks, looks at the others for confirmation. They’re all solemn, avoiding eye contact. “What—that. How. That doesn’t make any sense.”

The palpable disbelief and pity on their faces makes her feel sick. She bites back a scream. “I—”

“What’s this?” a voice cuts in. Nang turns around and sees the head of house, Kilan, standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and a dour expression on her face. “Why has everyone stopped? Get back to work! Lunch has to be done in a timely manner today with all the guests coming!”

Nang ducks her head down and picks up the rolling pin. 

“Wait,” the woman says, pointing towards Nang. “Not you. You’re coming with me.”

Swallowing heavily, she wipes her hands off on her apron. She trails after Kilan. Behind her, the low voices start up again, but she can feel all their burning gazes following her out.

…

The restaurant is closed. Of course.

Zuko is standing in front of it, staring at the sign over the door. He rubs his eyes against the sunlight. The building stays the same. Glancing back, he sees the street slowly starting to fill up, people out for their morning errands. He feels scattered, and this setback almost sends him back to his inn room. Still, he has a schedule to stick to.

He rereads the sign, just to make sure. It still says closed. He knocks anyway.

A few moments pass, a cabbage cart rolling behind him.

He knocks again.

The door slides open, and there's an old man glaring at him. Silver hair, sunspots sprinkled across his dark cheeks, but with broad shoulders and well-muscled forearms. If Zuko has to guess, he’s trained, probably an earthbender, in remarkably good shape for his age. The man looks at Zuko balefully, lips turning down. “We’re not open yet,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the sign.

“I know,” Zuko says. “I just wanted to speak with a woman who worked here yesterday afternoon.”

“Who are you?” he says, eyes narrowing.

“I—I was a customer, yesterday. The old woman gave me a gift, and I just,” he falters as the man’s frown deepens, turning into a scowl. Zuko takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to properly extend my thanks?”

“Is that so. What did she give you?”

“Mochi. It’s uh, sweet rice cakes—”

“I know what mochi is, boy,” he says shaking his head. “Come in.”

As the man pulls back into the building, Zuko hesitates, because this really shouldn’t be so easy. He glances around again, just to make sure no one is watching, and then ducks in after him. 

The restaurant is empty, the stools stacked onto the tables and the floors swept clean. There aren’t any lanterns lit, and the wane morning light that manages to come in through the windows makes the place feel like a cave. From behind the serving bar, he hears distant voices, pots clattering.

“Stay here,” the old man tells him, gesturing at a table. “Pull the seats down, won’t you? I’ll get her.” And he disappears into what Zuko assumes is the kitchen.

With nothing else to do, he pulls down the stools. Sits down at a table near the front. Twiddles his thumbs and goes through all the ways he could escape if worse came to worst. The front door would be easiest, but that’s the most predictable route. The back windows are an option, but he doesn’t know where they lead. So, that’s a last resort.

After what feels like an eternity, the old woman from yesterday emerges from the kitchen. Her silver hair is pulled back, flour on her hands that she’s wiping away with a cloth. She smiles at him, all good-natured, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “It’s nice to see you again,” she says, so sincere that it might be true. “Oh. You pulled down all the chairs.”

He nods. Was he not supposed to do that?

Her smile is broader now as she takes the seat across from him, throwing the cloth over her shoulder. Her posture is perfect, straight back, hands folded on the table. “Would you care for a game of pai sho?”

“What? Why would I—no,” he says. “Do all old people just like playing pai sho or something?” 

She chuckles behind a hand, her eyes twinkling. “Not all old people. Just a select few. Tea, then?”

“I won’t be staying long.”

“Very well. Let’s skip the formalities, if you are so eager. How can I help you?”

“You’re from the Fire Nation,” he says, then immediately regrets because the woman’s face changes, something in her eyes hardening.

“Straight to business, I see,” she says but her light tone is at war with the look in her eyes.

Zuko’s spine prickles, and he clenches his fists underneath the table. That was dumb of him. He needs to use…tact. Elders always liked it when he spoke using flowery words. “As a… an esteemed elder of this vill— of this city, you must know of other families.”

“Families?” she repeats, again chuckling behind that hand, but that does nothing to dispel the tension in the air. “I suppose I do. What do you mean by families?”

“Firebending families, or individuals that can firebend.”

“There are few here, in the southern region. I’m sure I don’t know all of the individuals that wander through.”

“I meant in Gaoling.”

An eyebrow rises at that. “Gaoling proper?”

“Yes,” he says impatiently. “Your family cannot be the only one.”

“I’m sorry, young man. There aren’t any others in Gaoling that I know of.”

“That can’t be true,” he says. “There must have been others, before. People that helped you. You can’t have done this alone.”

“Done what alone?”

He gestures at the restaurant. “Your life here. Other people—other fire nation people—must have helped you. The peasants of the earth kingdom would never—"

He cuts himself off. The woman’s face has grown glacial, so stiff that he can’t tell what she’s thinking, and that must mean she’s angry. He messed up, somewhere.

The front door is behind the woman. If he wants to reach it, he would have to move past her. How stupid could he be? Why had he chosen this seat? The back windows might be the only option.

Suddenly, she sighs, reaching up to pinch her nose bridge. “How old are you?”

“What?”

“I was twenty-four when I left home. It was difficult for me, at that age with all that I had, to come to that decision. You are younger.”

“We are not the same,” he says before he can stop himself, then swallows the rest and tastes acid for his effort. 

“How long have you been in the Earth Kingdom?”

“What does that have to do with anything?

She goes on, ignoring his question, “I have lived here almost fifty years, now. The people of the earth kingdom can be kind and cruel, just as anyone else. I do not know what you have experienced here, but know that there are people who can help, as long as you are willing to accept.”

Her face has gone soft again, and when he meets her eyes, he sees something there—pity, sadness, he can’t tell which, maybe both— that makes him glare down at the table. “I’m not here to receive a lecture about how everyone is kind and good in the Earth Kingdom. Save that drivel for someone else.”

Another sigh, more labored this time. “Very well. Why are you looking for these supposed families?”

“Firebending scrolls are being trafficked through the city.”

“Yes, and?”

Zuko blinks. “You knew?”

“It’s not a surprise. The richer folk like collecting things like that.”

“You wouldn’t buy any?” 

She laughs at this, a fully bellied laugh, both hands going up to cover her teeth. “Of course not. Those flimsy pieces of paper are close to useless, compared to a true master. We would never bother with those things. They’re practically a scam.” 

As soon as she says that, he knows she’s right. He hadn’t considered that there could be firebending masters here in this backcountry. The only people who would buy scrolls to learn bending had to be distant descendants of firebenders, and even then, Agni is slow to bless those far from home. It seems like the rich collector theory was becoming more and more plausible, rather than the scrolls having anything to do with the Avatar. 

Something must’ve shown on his face because the woman says in a voice so soft and kind and disgustingly motherly, “are you alright?” 

His throat closes and it’s hard to breathe. 

“I’m fine,” he snaps, the stool skittering against the wooden floor as he stands. “Thank you for your time.”

As he strides past her towards the door, she stands up to follow. He can’t help his shoulders bunching up, his hands straying towards the knife tucked into his belt. This woman is dangerous, if she somehow got earth kingdom peasants on her side after they knew she was from the fire nation.

Sliding the door open, he pauses. He’s not sure why. The sunlight is streaming in past him, and he turns around to see her standing in that spot of sun. Pity, he’s sure of it now, in her golden eyes, but she’s smiling around that. “If you’re hungry, come again, when we’re open.”

Why had she left? Didn’t she want to go home? He did. He wanted to go home, to regain his honor. But this person decided to forsake all that she had for some dusty earth kingdom backcountry. She wasn’t just some peasant who happened to travel south and liked the climate. She chose this. “Why?”

Her eyebrows furrow.

“Why did you leave?” he clarifies. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“This is my home.”

He doesn’t understand. He can’t. They stare at each other. The sun is warm against his back, his dark shirt absorbing the heat, and he feels himself starting to sweat. Finally, he bows.

“Goodbye,” he says.

“Come again,” she says.

They both know he won’t.

…

It is precisely when Tutor Shang has had his second cup of tea that Toph’s fragile patience shatters. Shang sits across from her, like any other day, droning on and on about ancient, esoteric Fire Nation customs that she has no want or need for. The sudden shift of curriculum leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. This is useless, worse than Avatar Kyoshi. At least Kyoshi was a badass.

“Tutor Shang,” Toph interrupts, tapping her fingers on the wood of the table.

“Yes?”

She wants to push his buttons, make him switch tracks to something entertaining. Ask him a question he doesn’t know the answer to, but she can’t think of any. Then, she must ask him a question that he isn’t allowed to answer. She smiles that delicate, demure smile her parents have always cooed over, arranges her face into a façade of innocent curiosity. “Please tell me about Avatar Korra.”

He’s staring at her, she knows it, and even the guards outside the door seem to straighten up. They must be listening in through the thin wood. 

“The records are sparse, Lady Toph. I fear—”

“There’s no point in dancing around the truth, dear Tutor. We both know you are lying.”

His heart skips, and a guard coughs.

“Tell me the truth. You are supposed to be smart, right? Why else are my parents paying you.”

He audibly swallows, pauses, as if waiting for something. That something never comes. For a moment, she thinks she’s broken him, but at last, he says, “What do you wish to know?”

This is a victory for the history books. “Why have you never taught me about her?” she says, meaning to sound more casual, less accusing, but there’s a frustration bubbling in her chest that she can’t stamp down anymore.

“It is—” he stammers, clearing his throat. “It is not pleasant. For a delicate lady such as yourself, your parents and I feared it would put you into a…state.”

That’s exactly the answer she’s expecting, confirming what she caught from eavesdropping on her parents, but still she has to stop herself from grinding her teeth. If she had one less ounce of self-control, this man would see how ‘delicate’ she really is. “What happened to her?”

“Avatar Korra is greatly criticized for not putting a stop to the war. She attempted to broker a treaty between the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, which…well, the results are evident. It failed.”

“Why?”

At this question, he clears his throat again. “Human stubbornness, perhaps. A cultural clash, a general animosity between the leaders of all kingdoms involved. Her own explosive temperament. There are many more factors that contributed to this failure, but they are far too numerous to get into.”

“Failure is not enough to put me into a ‘state,’ Tutor,” she says, annoyed. “Is that really it? Is that why no one talks about Avatar Korra?”

A pause. He’s hesitating, because that’s not all there is to it.

“Come on. You won’t be sending me into any sort of ‘state’, no matter what you say.”

“It is taboo to discuss. That is why your past tutors and I have not ever mentioned it.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “What is it? Did Avatar Korra like running around in nothing but her underwear? Did she like swimming in molten lava? Or has she had as many lovers as there are fish in the sea?”

He clicks his tongue. “Lady Toph, that is very disrespectful.”

She bites back a retort. “Please excuse my improper conduct,” she says, a touch shy of sarcasm.

The man does not comment on it, instead taking another sip from his cup, stalling. He finishes it, and he pours himself another. Again, a long pause. She can wait him out, though. Earth is stubborn.

“Much of the taboo concerns the circumstances of the Avatar’s death,” he says. Outside, the guards are shifting in surprise, but none of them go running off to get her parents or are bursting into the room, so she counts this as a win. “The Southern Water Tribe has remained quite…elusive about certain aspects of her passing, but what we know is that she was…well, she was poisoned.”

“I know that.”

“You do?” he says.

She waves him on, sighing. “Tutor Shang, I had high expectations about what was so taboo about Avatar Korra. That’s it? Avatars die just like anyone else. Someone was bound to end up poisoned in that long line.”

“Lady Toph,” he says, very serious, and then lets it hang there in the air.

“What?”

“I was not finished. The rest is more difficult. Do you truly wish to know?”

“Of course.”

“For nearly a decade before her passing—perhaps more, the Water Tribe remains secretive about this— the Avatar had been experiencing a failing in her physical and spiritual abilities. It has been theorized that this was the… natural decline of the Avatar spirit, after so much failure, and that it was a sign that the era of the Avatars has passed.”

Toph _is_ surprised now, and that annoys her.

“There are theories that the poison in the cup she drank was self-administered, or a Fire Nation assassin snuck into the fortress, or another that speculates one of her own tribesmen poisoned her. The culprit was never publicly named. In fact, the knowledge of her passing was kept secret for many years.”

“I…I see.”

“I have said too much. This subject matter is hardly pertinent to your education as a lady, and I can see it has disturbed you.”

She ignores that last bit, deliberately keeping her tone light and casual. “So, what? There isn’t supposed to be another Avatar or something?”

At this, Shang shifts in his seat. “It is mere speculation.”

“But they haven’t found the next one, right?”

“No, they have not.”

Toph laughs. The man flinches. 

“It’s funny—” she starts to say, but then something cold falls over her. A ghost of a hand on her back, the panic of last night ( _go)_ , and she snaps her mouth shut. Stupid. What is she thinking?

Shang clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

“Who do you think will win the war?” Toph says. 

He chokes and coughs into his elbow. “Lady Toph, I’m afraid this is out of my area of expertise.”

“You’re smart,” she says, dryly. “Why don’t you make a guess?”

“I assure you I could not speak—”

“You mean my parents do not want you to talk about the war to me.” His breath hitches. Good. She cocks her head at him. “You’ve already told me about Korra. Might as well finish digging the grave. ”

He’s silent. It’s uncharacteristic for him, and Toph knows she's gone too far. There will be no more answers from him. But she doesn’t care anymore. 

She flexes her feet. There’s the servant, Nang, outside the door. When had she arrived? She’s joining the guards on listening in. Her heart gives her away, her head resting right at the edge of the door frame as she leans against the wall. 

“Get out. I’m done for today.”

“Lady Toph, we—”

“I’m done. Out,” she says, pointing at the door. “Before I make you. ”

A beat of silence, where he must be staring her down. Then he stands, lingers at the doorway. She folds her hands on the table, sleeves obscuring her bandaged hand. He opens the door and leaves.

She’s tired, suddenly. It’s too much and too little at the same time, and there’s this sort of heat rising in her throat and she feels like she could breathe fire. Burn the table and scorch the floor. “Nang,” she calls.

The teenager hesitates before entering. “Yes, Lady Toph?”

“I’m going to my room,” she says. “I need a nap.” 

A sharp inhale, as if she’s about to argue, but then she just says, “Yes, Lady Toph.”

The guards come in to escort her back to her room, Nang trailing after them. They go through the courtyard, the sun warm against the crown of her head.

Nang helps her undress, staying silent this time. 

“Don’t disturb me,” she tells her, after they’re done. Then she shuts the door behind her louder than necessary, to make a point.

She sits on the bed, waiting for something. Someone. Her mother, maybe. She doesn’t come. The guards outside stand still. Nang waits outside for a few minutes, idly chatting with the guards, before she too leaves. 

Toph frowns at the floor. Everything is just… stupid. 

But, the floor is stone. She could part it easily, let it swallow her. Disappear. So, she does.

…

Something occurs to Zuko as he’s walking back to his inn room, the sun rising in the sky. It’s true that if fire bending was inherited from one generation to the next, there wouldn’t be any need to purchase scrolls. But, if the family’s bending skipped a generation, that would leave a parent unable to teach their child. He thinks of Toph, that first night he met her, her odd and resigned proclamation that her grandmother was a firebender. Toph might have siblings who had discovered they were firebenders which made her parents reveal their lineage. Or maybe Toph didn’t have siblings and her parents just wanted to share the family legacy. Or… 

Hah. Right.

It’s worth a shot, talking to Toph again, at any rate. He hadn’t seen her since the last Earth Rumble Match, and he isn’t sure how to find her. But, Xin Fu might know. 

That’s how he finds himself back underground at the Earth Rumble arena. It’s easier to find the man than Zuko had anticipated. One of the janitors is more than willing to direct him back to Xin Fu’s ‘office’ after he explained he had fought in the ring a few days ago. 

“The Blind Bandit?” Xin Fu says with a quirked eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. Zuko is sitting across from him, a large stone desk between them. The green, silvery light from the crystals makes him feel vulnerable, exposed, because his vision is so much worse in these conditions. 

Zuko waits. 

The man’s face is stoic, but he reaches a hand up to scratch his chin. “What you want with the Blind Bandit?”

“We know each other,” Zuko says, “But she disappeared a few nights ago and I haven’t seen her since.”

At that, Xin Fu’s eyebrows shoot up. But then his face settles back into that unimpressed glower. “Oh really?” 

“It’s true,” he says, indignant. “Can you help me or not?”

The man holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, but no. The fighter’s true identities are kept under wraps, confidential, you see. Can’t have fans mobbing the Blind Bandit’s home.”

“But you know who she is, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a careless shrug. His face is still expressionless, and Zuko wants to yell in frustration. 

Zuko takes a moment to reign in his temper. Deep breaths, like Uncle taught. This man is the only lead he has to find Toph and he can’t afford to lose it. “What can I do to uh… convince you?”

At this, Xin Fu rocks back in his chair, laughing, his hand coming down to slap his knee. Zuko tolerates this, mostly because he’s not sure what else he can do, but he feels his face growing hot. Finally, the man settles back into his seat, leaning forward across the table, a sharp smile tugging at his lips. “If you could match the profits the Blind Bandit brings in,” he says, his tone clearly implying that Zuko could never do such a thing, “Only then would I possibly even _consider_ telling you her true identity.”

“This has been a waste of my time,” Zuko huffs, getting to his feet. He turns to leave.

“Wait,” Xin Fu calls. “You fight with twin broadswords, don’t you?”

Zuko looks back at him. There’s a calculating glint in his eyes, and Zuko’s stomach drops. He doesn’t answer, just glares at the man. 

“Best be careful, boy. Wouldn’t do to be confused with that spirit.”

His hands start to automatically go to where his swords are before he stops short. They're concealed. Before stepping out that morning, he had tucked them into a bag that’s now resting on his back. He takes another deep breath. “Thanks for nothing.” 

...

In the end, Toph doesn’t go far. Where could she even go? Run away again? Go to the badgermole cave? She would have to come back. She always did.

That’s how she ends up in the gazebo, lying on the ice-cold ground. It’s close to the gate, but the way the guards are patrolling, they won’t notice her. There’s dirt on her dress, on her face and hair, and if her parents find her like this, they’d be furious. It doesn’t matter. At the edges of the platform, she can feel the sun. Reaching a hand out, she lets it rest in the warmth.

She stays like that, for a while, until a cloud comes and the warmth fades. 

From outside the walls, she feels a rumble. Carriages, quickly approaching. They’re stopped there, at the gate. No one had said anything about guests. Then to her surprise, one of the guards takes off running towards the main house. The gates open.

She lies perfectly still in the gazebo. One by one, people exit from the carriages. They’re escorted by the guards down the main path, towards the receiving hall. She thinks she might recognize one of them. A heavyset merchant, one of her father’s business partners that she had met once by accidentally stumbling into their meeting.

After they all pass, Toph sits up. Yet again, another thing that her parents failed to tell her about. Her mother must’ve known, this morning. Is that why she was so nervous?

With nothing better to do, she follows them.

…

Zuko sits in a tree, watching the gate of the Beifong estate as best as he can. He’s braced himself near the top of the trunk, wearing brown clothing in hopes of blending into the wood. It would be easier if there were still leaves, but all he can rely on is the dull gray branches to conceal him. Below, the ground is covered in wet leaves.

He’s slung his bag onto the branch, entertaining himself by letting dull red flames lick from between his lips. The morning hasn’t been too interesting, so far. The guard’s patrol essentially lined up with what he had seen yesterday.

The surprise comes near midday, just as the heavy clouds begin rolling in. Three carriages line up outside the estate’s gates. He’s too far to really see the details, but if he must guess, it’s probably the other leading merchants of the town, their feathers ruffled from his impromptu visit last night.

But, this might be a good opportunity to see what buildings are used for what. With it getting darker and darker with the clouds, it might even provide some sort of cover. It shouldn’t be too risky, and it would save him a lot of trouble later on. 

With those justifications, he slips on the mask. Tying the bag to himself, he swings down the tree. He approaches the walls from the northwest, near the back of the estate. The patrol of guards has already passed, and he should act now before they come around again. Taking a running start, he runs up the wall, hooking an arm over the edge and pulling himself up. He’s next to one of the smaller buildings, what he would have guessed was the servant’s quarters. He jumps onto its roof, landing lightly. Pressing himself into the green tiles, he tries to make himself as small as possible, straining to look over the peaked roof to the main path leading through the estate.

The merchants have reached the front most building, and Zuko can hear the low murmurs of their voices as they’re directed inside. A few minutes pass, and Zuko feels himself starting to sweat. There might not be anything else to see, and each moment he waits, the higher the chance is that someone would spot him. 

These thoughts are quelled by a sudden, low thrum of steady voices. Three people are emerging from the two-story building at the back, what looks like a woman, a man, and a servant. Zuko squints. He’s at a bad angle. It might be Lao Beifong and his wife. They disappear inside.

The guards are approaching, outside the wall. He flattens himself further, going perfectly still.

They pass.

He lets himself breathe.

The front building is the entrance hall, then. The office is probably located in the two-story structure, where the Beifongs came from. That’s enough for him. Another glance around, to make sure no one has come out of any of the buildings, and he’s sliding off the roof and jumping back onto the fence.

He’s scanning the area again, ears strained to make sure there’s no surprise guard patrol, when a familiar voice says, “Zuko?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The great thing about writing 20,000 words on the same variation of scenes is that even if you nix more than half of it, you'll still end up using those ideas and words later on. Hopefully, anyways. 
> 
> Leave a comment! They're nice to have.


	5. Kid Napping or Kidnapping?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toph dreams again. “I have you Naga,” she says to the polar bear dog. Naga whines in reply. She doesn’t understand. She feels very alone then, isolated on an ice shelf with her only friend. 
> 
> “There,” Toph says. She stands, feels the cheerful warmth of the flame, and tosses it from hand to hand. Its trail blazes, sizzling and cracking and sparking. “Fire.”  
>    
> “Wait,” Xin Fu calls. “You fight with twin broadswords, don’t you?” 
> 
> From outside the walls, Toph feels a rumble. Carriages, quickly approaching. They stop there, at the gate. No one had said anything about guests.
> 
>   
> Another glance around, to make sure no one has come out of any of the buildings, and Zuko’s sliding off the roof and jumping back onto the fence. He’s scanning the area again, ears strained to make sure there’s no surprise guard patrol, when a familiar voice says, “Zuko?”

On the dais besides her husband, Poppy feels faint. It’s the pressure in the room, the swell of warm bodies, the fire in the hearth, agitated men trying to talk over one another. Her husband is silent however, listening patiently to Guo’s long-winded recount of the break in. The man is haggard, dark circles under his eyes, robes disheveled, and there’s a hollowness in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. But what lent the most credence to his story is the bandage wrapped around his neck.

“—the thing was after my merchandise,” Guo says, his voice rough from speaking for so long.

The other two merchants, Zhu and Wang, both say something at the same time, then furl thinly veiled insults at each other about how rude it is to interrupt. Poppy tunes them out, her mind wandering.

Toph firebent this morning. A miracle or a curse, Poppy isn’t sure she knows the difference anymore. Her daughter had always surprised her, ever since she was born.

The pregnancy had been difficult, and the birth even more so. Poppy’s health had suffered for months (years) after, and she can scarcely remember those days anymore. It shames her to think of it now, how despondent and listless she had become. Toph was blind. A blind girl born into the heart of a horrible war. Poppy had nearly died for that.

The doctor had warned them if they tried again, Poppy wouldn’t survive. She had cursed the spirits and herself and her ancestors and parents and everyone in the damned world. Then she had recovered.

But Lao had remained strong. He loves Toph, more than anything else in the world.

“Do you remember,” her husband had said as he undressed last night, the rain pattering against the roof and the wind beating against the walls, “the time Toph began to crawl?”

Poppy had not answered. This felt like a deliberate slight on his part, some sort of insult meant to remind her how insufficient she was as a mother. And she was still upset about their argument. So, she hadn’t even turned over in their bed to glance at him. Instead, she watched his shadow stretch on the wall, the candlelight flickering.

“Toph loved hiding, even she was quite bad at it,” he said with a laugh. “But eventually she figured it out. Hide behind objects. It isn’t enough to stay still and silent. The nanny went into a frenzy. I suppose that should’ve been the first warning sign of what was to come.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping. Poppy did not look at him.

“Back then, I wondered about how unlucky I was. My wife ill, my daughter blind," he mused. 

This again would be insulting to her, if she hadn’t shared the same poisonous thoughts. Still, it stung all the same.

"Then, one day, Toph disappeared, and I understood the heights of my foolishness. I could have been left without either of you. I know now, how lucky I am to have you both.”

“That was the first time Toph ran away?” Poppy said, despite herself.

“Yes,” Lao laughed. “Though I wouldn’t call it running away. I found her quickly, only half an hour or so after she had disappeared. She had hidden under the bushes by the fruit orchard.” The fondness in his voice was so strong that Poppy had sat up. He was staring unseeing at his clasped hands. Then, he shifted towards her, eyes soft and sad. “I know we have our disagreements. But I love you very much, you and Toph. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Right then, Poppy had been struck by the urge to confess everything, to fall into his arms and profess the foolish firebending experiments. But he had smiled, a small thing that was so fragile, and she had to look away.

“Do you know what Toph had been doing under the bush?”

Poppy settled back down into bed, pulling the covers over her chin.

“Finding leaves.” 

She couldn’t stop the chuckle that slipped through.

“Then, she said she had a gift to show me. She told me to crouch down next to her, and the next thing I knew she was slapping the earth.”

Poppy went cold.

“The ground shook underneath my feet, and I fell onto my rear! We had our very own earthbending prodigy,” he said, grinning. “I was glad then that she was not a son.”

“You never told me,” Poppy said, sitting up.

“I wouldn’t have insisted on an earthbending tutor otherwise. I was… disappointed to learn she hadn’t progressed very much since then, but perhaps it’s for the better.” 

“I thought that—” she said, her voice rising. He had stared at her then, his brows furrowed at her obvious agitation. She took a deep breath. “I thought that was tradition, for the Beifongs, to learn earthbending forms, even if you can’t bend. That’s your brother did. That’s what _you_ did.”

He gave a rueful smile. “We wanted to follow elder brother’s footsteps. He was the prodigy. Hui and I… we just wanted to catch some of his brilliance.”

The conversation had ended after that, Lao thinking about his now passed brothers, and Poppy spiraling into a crisis of unbelievable proportions.

Toph firebent this morning. Toph can earthbend too, according to Lao. A _prodigy_ , of all things. Poppy feels like bursting out into laughter, but she does not. That wouldn’t be proper, even in an assembly this small and impromptu.

“—the Blue Spirit is a man,” Guo is saying, “of that I am certain.”

Just yesterday, Poppy would have argued in the contrary. Now, she feels sick. It doesn’t matter what the Blue Spirit is. Toph eclipses all other problems.

“Before, you were certain it was a spirit. Could it not be some sort of trickster spirit?” Lao asks.

“I felt the man breathing behind me, I could feel the warmth radiating off him. He wanted my merchandise. No spirits have need of material possessions. In spirit tales—”

“Spirit tales?” Zhu cries in outrage, his teacup clattering to the table. This is a staunch break from propriety, and Poppy wrinkles her nose at him. “Now we are relying on spirit tales?”

“What else is there?” Guo exclaims. “If you can point me to some sort of spiritual authority, Zhu, I would be more than happy to rely upon them. There are no shamans or sages or spirits-forbid, an Avatar, for us to call upon in Gaoling! All we have are stories.”

Poppy clears her throat. They all turn to look at her, and she smiles, a delicate and pretty thing she has practiced in the mirror since she was a girl. “Forgive me, honored guests, but we are not here to argue with each other.”

“My wife is correct,” Lao says. “I am inclined to believe Guo, who has had the most interactions with this masked charlatan. Now, we must decide on how to get rid of him.”

…

Zuko slips off the wall and crashes to the ground, landing flat on his back, his sword scabbard digging into his spine. It’s humiliating, the tiles must’ve been wet, and it’s all compounded by the fact that the girl, _Toph_ , is laughing over him as he struggles to breathe.

Her bangs have been parted and pulled back to reveal a high and delicate forehead, the rest of her hair gathered into a bun. She’s wearing a silk robe, all light greens and cream whites, camellias embroidered onto the collar of her robe. For a second, he’s struck by the familiarity of her dress, the colors, the material, her hairstyle.

Then he places it. The doll that Uncle had sent from Ba Sing Se, which Azula had promptly lit on fire.

“Toph?” he gasps.

“Zuko?” she says, copying him, her voice going all high and breathy— _he does not sound like that_ —and she’s still laughing.

He sits up and rubs his bruised spine, scowling at her. The fall had loosened his mask, so he redoes the knots. They’re in the back alley behind the servant’s building. It’s bare, a single high and narrow window shuttered with wood near the top of the structure. A pair of skeletal trees are planted at the corners of the fence, but there’s not a stray leaf or twig out of place. The only things that don’t fit in here are him and Toph. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” she says smirking. She offers a hand down to him. He hesitates, loudly, if possible, and she wiggles her fingers in response. Finally, he takes it, and she levers him up. “Did you want to see me so badly you snuck into my estate?”

“What,” he says, rather intelligently, taking a step back. Then it clicks. “You’re a Beifong?”

“What gave it away?” she asks dryly. “Was it the fancy pajamas?”

Zuko’s mind scrambles. Expensive firebending scrolls, the Beifongs being the richest people in town, a daughter no one seems to know about. Said daughter somehow being a famous earthbending fighter. Her grandmother is a firebender. It isn’t adding up. Too many coincidences. Something crucial is missing.

“Well? What are you doing here?”

“Do you have siblings?” he asks, then immediately regrets it. Stupid. It seems like he’s kept the habit of putting his foot in his mouth after all these years.

She snorts, which is a better response than he expected. “What does that have to do with anything? Besides, you never answered my question.”

“I just—I need to uh,” he stammers and glances around again, hoping for some inspiration or divine intervention. But there are just bare trees and dusty brick pavement. “…find food.”

“I think you might be getting worse at lying,” she says.

“Shit.”

“Shit,” she repeats with relish, like some sort of crazed parakeet-cockatoo, “is right, buck-o. Tell me the truth. Come on, or I’ll yell, and all the guards will come running.”

The truth is that he got caught by some ten-year-old girl where trained guards and soldiers failed to catch him. It’s embarrassing for all of them, except Toph.

He hesitates too long. Toph’s lips are parting, and he rocks forward on his heels, slaps a hand over her mouth, and they both go careening into the building’s wall from his momentum. The thump is loud, too loud, and she’s looking scandalized and—and pissed, he realizes. Her fist is cocking, as if she’s about to punch him in the gut. The wall cracks beneath her. He gets ready to block, to bear the burnt of stone crushing into his arm—

Something clatters above them, wood scraping against wood. They both freeze against the wall, and Zuko hopes the shadows are enough to hide them but knows that they are not. He looks up to see a burst of steam that smells like pig-chicken wafting from the open window. Nothing more, and Zuko almost slumps in relief. But then a young woman peeks her face out after that cloud of steam. He thinks (hopes) she might overlook them. The shadows had to do something for them. But she’s moving, turning to look down, and he isn’t fast enough to get out of there or hide or do anything—

They make eye contact through his mask. Her mouth drops open, her face quickly turning pale enough to match the whitewash of the walls. For a horrible moment, he stares at this woman, her jaw quivering, Toph paralyzed against the wall, her breath pushing against his gloved hand.

The woman screams.

The next few seconds are like snapshots in his mind.

Toph shoves him, and he stumbles back.

“The Blue Spirit has kidnapped Lady Toph!” the woman is shouting.

“Shit,” they both say. There are doors slamming open, from this building and the next one over. Footsteps pounding against the ground. Zuko draws his swords.

Toph doesn’t move.

A single guard rounds the left corner into the alley, a spear in his hand, and Zuko knows he can take this single man. He can take several of them, six maybe, if he uses his advantage. It then occurs to him that the environment is a chokehold alleyway, and any attempt he could make to scale the wall of the building or fence would leave him dead or dying. That guard shouts something that Zuko’s brain scrambles into gibberish, and the man is joined by four other guards. Crunching from the other side of the alley. Five more, spears pointed at him. He's surrounded.

“Lady Toph!” a guard shouts from the left. “Come here!”

Toph still doesn’t move. Her hair has fallen loose from her headband, and now he can only catch glimpses of her face. A flash of her lips parted, showing teeth, a wide a glassy eye. She’s scared, but of what?

In that split second, he doesn’t have time to think, to plan. He reacts. His arm hooks around Toph’s neck, pulling her close. Her hand instantly goes up to grab his forearm, nails digging through the fabric and into his skin, a clamp grinding into his arm. It would be easy for her to smash him into a pulp, for her to twist her free hand and heave the earth underneath his feet. There’s enough time for her to do it as he shifts his hold, numerous openings. He might even welcome it. Her reflexes are as good as his, better even.

But she does not, going limp in his arms.

The blades whisper against the delicate skin of her neck, and the guards halt their advance. He and Toph shuffle back, heading towards the fence. It’s a dead end, but the space might give him a few precious seconds to do… to do something. He can’t think.

“Toph!” a woman cries. A lady pushes her way through the crowd of guards, wearing a flowing cream and green dress, her hair carefully folded on her head, flower pins holding it all in place. Toph’s mother. Zuko can see the family resemblance. The lady stands tall and poised, but she stops short, her face crumbling in fear.

“Mom,” Toph says, her voice soft but measured, an acknowledgement of her mother’s presence. It’s nothing more, nothing less. Zuko wonders where that fear went, how she had hidden it so deftly and quickly. He ignores the numbness in his chest, the nausea closing his throat.

“Blue Spirit,” Lady Beifong addresses Zuko, her voice admirably steady, “let my daughter go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Let her go, and I swear, as the lady of Beifong estate, you will walk free.”

This is an obvious lie. Azula would have run circles around her when she was five years old. Zuko could run circles around her. But then Lao Beifong emerges from behind his wife and pushes her back, stepping in front. His face is steely as he says—

“Get ready to jump,” Toph whispers.

Zuko starts at the sound of her voice, all the muscles in his arms tensing.

“Over the wall,” Toph says. “In three…”

“Two…”

Zuko takes a deep breath.

“One.”

He sheaths his swords in one smooth motion, the guards rush forward, and Zuko grabs Toph’s collar, turning towards the fence. The earth hiccups under their feet, heaving them both up into the air and over the wall. Guards on the other side, mouths gaping as they soar over.

Zuko loses his grip on Toph, rolls roughly to soften the fall, and he’s up again in a second. Toph somehow landed on her feet, unscathed, and he grabs her hand, sprinting into the forest with her.

…

“Badgermole caves,” Toph says as they run. Zuko’s still leading, but he takes her suggestion and now they’re curving east towards the mountain range. The wind is picking up, cold enough to cut through her pajamas, but as long as she keeps moving, it’s fine.

The reach the bottom of the mountain range just as it starts to rain. Zuko stops, for some reason, even though he doesn’t even seem to be particularly out of breath.

“Why did I kidnap you?” he says, genuinely bewildered. Then a pause, the sound of… cloth, Toph thinks, rubbing against something, and his voice is louder. “Why did you _let_ yourself be kidnapped?”

“Let’s get out of the rain,” she deflects. She turns away from him and towards the sloping incline of the mountain, squaring her shoulders, and she gives the ground a stomp. It’s good material. The mountain won’t crumble if she punches a hole into its side, so she does it. “Come on,” she says, going in. “Let’s talk in there.”

He follows her but stops barely under the lip of the cave. “Toph.”

She doesn’t answer this, instead flopping down in the dirt. It’s hot, she realizes. She’s hot, but her teeth are starting to chatter, and she doesn’t know how to think anymore. Zuko’s tense, his breath loud enough to fill the space with heat.

“You’re the Blue Spirit,” Toph remembers. “Right?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

Toph leans forward, burying her face in her knees. Fire, again, in her throat.

Zuko steps closer to her, and he reaches out a hand as if he’s about to touch her, but then he stops short. Instead, he crouches down across from her. “Toph,” he says again, but with more urgency.

“Fine!” she says, shooting her head up. “I guess we can talk about it, if you want to so badly. Three guesses to what my father would’ve done to you if you got caught.”

“I would’ve been fine.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You would be dead, or imprisoned, or forced into a mining camp!” The volume of her own voice surprises her. She’s risen into a crouch, fingers digging into the dirt.

“Your father is an esteemed and honorable man. I am a thief, extortionist, and—and kidnapper,” he says, voice cracking at that. He sounds frustrated, ashamed, angry, a lot of emotions balling together into a sticky mess that Toph can’t pick apart further. “Your father is well within his rights to uphold the law.”

“What was I supposed to do then? Walk away and let the guards beat you up? To let you die?”

Honestly, Toph had panicked. From the moment the guards had all sprang into action, the ground rumbling with their footsteps, Toph had frozen. It was over, her precarious charade with her parents didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter, she was going to be locked up forever. It was only when Zuko had grabbed her that everything had snapped back into focus. His heart had been beating so fast, his breath so carefully controlled to keep the panic in his chest locked inside. Getting out of the estate, even with her as a hostage, would be nearly impossible. She had to do something.

“He is your father,” Zuko insists, as if she doesn’t already know that.

“So what?”

“He cares for you! Your mother too. You didn’t see how scared she—” he cuts himself off, standing up, and turning to pace, before he stops short against the wall of the cave. The temperature seems to balloon. “And you just let them think you were kidnapped by a criminal!”

“Why do you care so much? You should be thanking me. I _saved your life_.”

He stomps closer, and she can feel the heat coming off of him now. “I didn’t ask for your help. I wouldn’t have even been caught if you hadn’t been there!”

“Alright, asshole,” she yells, getting to her feet, cracking her knuckles, and baring her teeth. “I’ll take you out right now, if that’s what you want. I’ll hand deliver you to my father.” And she shifts into her bending stance, feet planted, hands ready to strike.

The world narrows in on this singular point, with Zuko at the center, anything outside their small cave drowned out by the rain. She’s aware of his every breath, of every beat of his heart, how he tenses, reaching for the swords on his back. But he stops. And she almost takes this opportunity to bury him up to his neck, to heave a boulder into his stomach and stomp him into the dirt. But she does not. She waits.

He lets out a long, slow breath, and the temperature cools.

“I’m not going to fight you. I just…” he stops, voice creaking and sputtering out. “I just don’t understand. Why did you help me?”

“Is that what you’re upset about? You’re my friend. Friends help each other,” she says. Then she feels his heart speed up, hears his sharp inhale, and her stomach drops. “I thought… we are friends, right?”

“We barely know each other.”

You’re the only person in the world who actually knows me, she wants to say. Instead, all she can muster is a single, “oh.”

That might be disappointment in her throat, a tickle in her nose. Her first human friend hadn’t even realized they were friends. She was just being stupid this whole time.

“Toph, I didn’t… I mean I’ve never—”

She punches him in the face and runs out of the cave.

…

The kidnapping of Toph Beifong is the prelude to Nang Gets Fired. Of that, Nang is certain. Even more so when Lady Beifong calls her into the small sitting room, tea already prepped, looking as if she’s sucking on a lemon. Nang would have to apologize to her little brother when she went home.

“Sit,” the woman says with a pointed finger.

Nang sits.

“Tell me, what have you learned about Toph?”

What Nang has learned about Toph would be of no comfort to the woman, and most likely she already knows what Nang has discovered. Earthbending cannot be kept a secret, especially from one’s own parents, though Nang isn’t quite sure how all the servants managed to get the wrong impression, and everyone already knows that Toph has an uncanny ability to overhear things.

She swallows, thinks about leaving this cursed house, and bows her head in deference. “It has been less than a day, Lady Beifong.”

“I know,” she says stiffly, “I know. And look where my daughter has gone again in less than forty-eight hours.”

“Surely the high bounty reward will help catch the criminal. And Toph is a resourceful girl. She will be returned soon enough, safe and sound.”

This does not comfort the woman. She covers her mouth with a hand, head bowing, her fingers so tense that when she finally removes that hand to speak, she left crescent indentations in her cheek. “Tell me, did you witness the moment that criminal jumped over the wall with Toph?”

“No, Lady Beifong. I was inside the kitchen.”

When the woman looks up, Nang is surprised at what she sees. Jaw clenched, brows pinched in anger, lines under her eyes that Nang hadn’t noticed before. Lady Beifong looks on the verge of tears, but then she smiles an incomprehensible smile that masks her face so completely that Nang wonders if the lady is using some sort of spirit magic.

“I will tell you what I saw, and in return, you must tell me if I am being ridiculous,” she says, her voice so steady that Nang almost thinks she imagined the look on her face earlier. “After my husband took charge to negotiate, the criminal began to move. He sheathed his swords, and Toph…Toph seemed to twist her hands up as if—as if she was earthbending. The earth threw the criminal and Toph over the wall. Tell me, what does this mean?”

Nang frowns. “Forgive me, Lady Beifong, but are you implying that Toph earthbent both herself and the criminal over the wall?”

She does not respond, again that ball of horrible emotions breaking through on her face, before she deftly masks it again. “It sounds ridiculous.”

“Toph is an adept earthbender, but I don’t believe—”

“What” Lady Beifong cuts in, her eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

Nang blinks in surprise. “Lady Toph is an adept earthbender—”

“How do you know this?”

“She- she um,” Nang stammers, weighing the risk of telling the lady she had broken a precious jade comb, before remembering that she had already prepared herself for getting fired. “She fixed a jade comb I had dropped.”

The lady’s face turns so pale that Nang rushes over to her side in case she faints, but the woman waves her off. “Go. I need time to think.”

“Should I call for a doctor?”

“No, no. Just go.”

Nang bows and leaves. As she walks through the halls to retrieve Lao Beifong, she realizes that the woman had not known Toph could earthbend, and Nang feels sick.

…

Zuko walks back to town in the rain. His face throbs.

The mask had remained in the cave, just in case. He’d pick it up on his way out.

It’s kind of funny, the whole Toph thing. Or at least Azula would find it funny. Zuko doesn’t think so. There’s a pressure on his chest, a sort of discomfort that tugs at his throat and makes it hard to swallow. Uncle would know what to do about Toph, spouting some proverb about how having a friend is like counting all the stars in the sky with only one eye.

No, Uncle would never say that. It doesn’t even make sense. Zuko wishes Uncle was here, but he must make his own decisions.

By the time he makes it back to town, the rain has let up, and the sun shyly peaks out through the clouds. It’s edging towards sunset. There are people on the street, kids splashing in puddles, mothers scolding them for getting their clothes dirty, carts wobbling down the uneven road. As he walks from the more opulent north gate to the western part of town where his inn is, he finds that the number of people on the streets are dwindling, until finally the small street leading to his inn is almost completely empty. Large puddles and thick mud, footprints tracking through, and one old man smoking his pipe outside his shop, suspiciously watching Zuko.

Not a good sign.

Zuko had made a general principle of going in through his window if he’s out on Blue Spirit business, but he had left through the front door this morning, and he would have to come back through the front door this afternoon. Not to mention the weird old man.

He pauses as he reaches the front door. It’s been left ajar, and raised voices are coming from inside. He peers through the crack.

Xin Fu is standing in the foyer, speaking to the inn keeper. “A boy with a scar over his—”

Zuko steps back. He quietly makes his way towards the stables. It’s fine. He already has most of his things—well, not the bending scrolls from Guo; those are under the mattress under a floorboard—but as long as they don’t catch him, it’s fine.

He rounds the corner of the building and sees the stables, his ostrich-horse backed into the corner of her stall, staring balefully at the leak dripping from the ceiling. Then he spots the two men, very casually loitering, leaning against a post, chatting between themselves. They look familiar, one tall and lanky, arms folded across his chest, and the other shorter and stockier, picking his ear with a pinky.

“Ah,” Zuko says. Those two are from the Earth Rumble, though they’d been beaten by the Hippo.

Again, he’s backing away, keeping a very careful eye on the two men. Suddenly he bumps into something. Something big and fleshy. Something like someone’s chest. He turns to see the Hippo, bare chested even in this weather, squinting down at him, smiling with all four of his molars.

“Found you,” the Hippo says.

Zuko runs.

Or he tries to.

The Hippo lashes out, faster than expected, grabbing Zuko’s wrist. A meaty paw, making his arm look like a toothpick. Zuko twists out of the grip, spins into a roundhouse kick that—

It’s too weak, he realizes too late, scuffing against the Hippo’s cheek. Not enough torsion.

The Hippo might’ve laughed, or scoffed, but that doesn’t matter because he’s lunging. Zuko stumbles back, too slow, too cold, the rainwater freezing against his scalp, trickling down the back of his neck like ice. A hand curls into the collar of his shirt, fabric stretching, and he’s pulled forward, spinning and flying.

He crashes onto the ground, his head bouncing. Blood in his mouth, and he can’t breathe. Pain piercing through his skull. Breath is important, he knows that. He needs to breathe. Rolling onto his back, he sees the sky is gray with clouds, feels the mud sticking to his clothes.

Zuko struggles to his feet. The world spins. A crowd is gathering. The stable is behind him, his ostrich-horse squawking, and in front are three men. Three men he needs to beat.

“Nothing to see here,” Xin Fu says to the crowd.

Four men.

Zuko draws his swords.

Xin Fu smirks as he steps between Hippo and Lanky, looking like he’d just been offered up a meal on a silver platter. Zuko understands too late, like always. The swords are incriminating. He should’ve left them in the cave with the mask. But he couldn’t give up his only reliable weapons.

“Lee,” Xin Fu says. And Zuko almost looks around for this Lee before remembering. His brain is working too slow. Concussion. “Or should I say the Blue Spirit?”

Zuko spits blood. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It must not be very convincing, because they chuckle among themselves. Toph was right. He is getting worse at lying. They spread out into a semicircle around him, blocking off all escape routes.

Four earthbenders against one supposed non-bender. It seems like overkill. But, he will never give up without a fight.

…

“He’s an idiot!” Toph tells the badgermoles. The little ones keep snuffling her hands as she tries to pet them, their cold, wet noses brushing against her palm, and finally she gives up, burying her face into the smallest one’s fur. “I’m an idiot.”

It blows air into her ear, which tickles.

“Stop that.”

It chitters.

“I know,” she says. “I shouldn’t have punched him. But he deserved it! Right?”

The baby badgermoles are losing interest and start to pad away, sticking their little snouts into the dirt and digging for bugs. Toph falls onto her butt, sighing. The colony is moving farther north, through the mountain range. It had taken longer than she had liked to find them again. She doesn’t want to lose even more friends than she already has.

“What should I do?” she asks them. “I can’t go home. My parents will lock me up forever. And I can’t—I can’t let that happen.”

To her great embarrassment, she feels tears on her cheeks. She sniffles and scrubs them away. The smallest badgermole circles back around to her, leaning its warm body against her, and lays down. Toph curls her hands into its fur. A sob escapes from her mouth without her permission. It licks her cheeks.

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but her pity party is broken up when the badgermole stands up. It shakes her off.

“Wait!” she says scrambling to her feet as it shuffles off. “Wait for me!”

The little badgermole begins tunneling, an offshoot from the main tunnel the adults had built. It’s going…east, Toph thinks, away from where the others are heading.

“Where are you going?” she asks as she catches up to it. “Your family is that way.”

It curls its tail around her ankles, sniffing in her direction, before resuming its digging. There’s no sign it’s going to stop anytime soon. Compelled by something she can’t place, she threads her fingers into it pelt, following it.

Finally, after sloping up for a while, they break through into a cave. It’s not too big, but still tall enough to fit the main Beifong building. As she examines the edges of it with her feet, she finds that it’s perfectly smooth, as if someone had taken a scoop out of the earth and flung it away. Someone had taken great care to earthbend this cave into existence. The opening to the outside is far above her, twenty feet at least, and as she cautiously edges into the space, she’s surprised to feel stairs carved into the wall, leading up and out. In the center, there’s some sort of…tall stump.

“What is this?” she asks.

The badgermole pushes her forward with its snout.

“Okay, okay.”

The tall stump turns out to be a rough statue. The stone its hewn out of is coarse, but still the same material as the ground and walls. It’s seated, legs folded in lotus position, its bottom fused to the earth. One hand is proffered, the other resting in its lap. As Toph’s hand explore up the body, she realizes it’s a woman, if the chest is any indication. The face is nearly featureless, only its nose defined. There’s a block of flowing hair, falling over the shoulders and stopping midway down the back.

“Uh…hello?” she says, then feels dumb. The badgermole had followed her out to the center of the cave, settling on its rear. So, she asks it, “what should I do?”

It lays down, sighing.

“Thanks,” she says dryly. “That’s very helpful.”

Circling the statue, she feels it out this time with the vibrations of her footsteps. It’s a solid thing, nothing hollow or cracked. She sits down across from it, adopting the same position. Nothing happens. She feels silly.

Sprawling out of lotus position, she cracks her neck and loosens her focus. Up above, at the opening, warmth is spilling in from the slowly setting sun. She can feel it now after firebending, the heat of the sun, if she cares to concentrate for it.

The warmth is sinking farther and farther down. Toph realizes it’s starting to hit the statue, and she presses her hand into its forehead where the heat is concentrated. Nothing.

She takes the statue’s hand. Again, nothing.

“Why did you bring me here?” she complains to the badgermoles. It doesn’t respond.

Suddenly there’s a hand on her shoulder.

Toph jumps to her feet, whirling around. There’s someone standing there, someone who didn’t exist moments before. Their form is hard to grasp, like a dandelion puff brushing against the ground before getting picked up by the wind. But she can hear them breathing, so faintly, and after each passing second, the figure becomes more and more solid. The wind blows, and Toph can smell magnolias and ice and snow. Toph know this person, knows her because—

“Hello Toph,” the woman says, voice low and warm and familiar. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two fun behind the scenes facts for your viewing pleasure:
> 
> 1\. I wrote Poppy as Poopy multiple times throughout this chapter. If I somehow didn't catch all of them, please let me know lol. 
> 
> 2\. The original draft of this chapter was entirely different. I only kept like half a scene from the old one. Rest in pieces, old friend. 
> 
> This is just to satisfy my own curiosity, but if anyone has any guesses about who the cave statue is depicting, feel free to drop a theory. Might be a bit of a stretch for people to guess it, because I really haven't provided enough context clues. Teehee. :)


End file.
